Cosmos
by opheliacs
Summary: Anorexic Alice flees an emotionally distant mother to start over with her little-known father, desperate to escape her past. She'll find love in Jasper and the Cullens, but every good vampire has a dark side and a dangerous secret, and Jasper's may just kill her. Left half-destroyed by the humans and vampires in her life, Alice puts her life together, unaware of the danger looming.
1. Preface

Preface

In my line of work, death is the unspoken companion. Pageant queens and debutantes have to make the weight somehow, and not all of us are naturally small-boned. You think we live glamorous lives surrounded by friends and popularity? I had my own mind and my inner demons, my hobbies and anorexia. Between my eating disorder and my mother, I'm lucky I lived this long. But they didn't kill me. Not quite.

Instead, I would die tonight. As my lungs caught fire and my legs struggled to propel me faster, I couldn't bring myself to dread or fear my death. Dying for the one I loved seemed a better choice than death by beauty pageant.

I stumbled into the clearing, bright with the light of the stars. I was utterly alone. No one could hear me scream. My death would be quiet, but at least it was mine and not my love's. I refused to be sad. The glorious huntress stepped forward with a smile that blinded me as her hands reached to close around my neck.


	2. Miss Miss

Miss Miss

I stood in line with all the others, just waiting for my number to be called. Absently, I smoothed the folds of my dress, dark red this time, to contrast with my black curls, green eyes, and translucent skin. I struggled to tune out the worried, girlish chatter around me as teen queens and wannabes asked each other if their lipstick was red enough, cleavage pushed out enough, hair perfect enough. The overly-peppy call of, "Number 21, Mary-Alice Ophelia Brandon!" jolted me out of my reverie as I stepped out on the catwalk with practiced, tiny, regal steps.

At 4'10'', I'm hardly typical model material, but my appearance-oriented mother was determined to have me and my younger sister, Cynthia, follow in her footsteps. I was supposed to be motivated to be Miss Teen Mississippi by the promise of all the scholarship money, the fame, the prestige, the debutante balls, the suitors…everything I didn't want. But I mechanically applied make-up, coiffed hair, donned dresses, recited answers. I was less a daughter and more a super-efficient wind-up doll. But I had a little surprise for my mother and all of yesterday's grande dames.

I'm always supposed to sing for the talent portions of all my pageants. Mother considers it my most striking talent and says than an exhibition of photography or "piano-mongering" isn't seemly. But I just wasn't in the mood for "Caro mio ben" that day. I scanned the audience, squinting into the bright lights, searching for my mother's face as she saw the huge piano being wheeled out onto the dais of the stage. Fire shot directly from her eyes to mine, but I met her gaze with a triumphant smile.

"What will you play for us today, Miss Brandon?" the head judge asked me.

I thought of the angriest, most passionate, and most inappropriate piece of music I knew, and answered, "The Warsaw Concerto." I could practically hear my mother's groan and curses.

As I seated myself at the piano, I let the music overtake me as it never had before. I played with a vigor and power that left me breathless and weak after my seven minutes were through. The judges stared at me and didn't say a word as I curtseyed, smiled, and exited the stage.

Needless to say, I was not named Miss Teen Mississippi, and I heard hell for the nearly four-hour drive from Vicksburg to home.

"How could you even dare embarrass me and disgrace yourself! Did you even think?! Do you ever think? I thought we agreed on the gold satin, not the red taffeta—it makes you look fat. Oh, don't you think I didn't see you sneaking that oatmeal at breakfast this morning, young lady. I have eyes, you know!"

Unable to hold my silence any more, I burst. "Mother, steel-cut plain oatmeal made with fat-free, organic almond milk and half a teaspoon of honey did not make me gain weight. I've lost all the weight I gained in the last three months."

"You were big before then."

"Mother, I had to pad my dress. That's why I wore the red; the gold is strapless and not helpful in creating a fake bustline."

"Nonsense, you don't need a fake bustline, you've got my curves."

"Have you forgotten that the school called you just a few weeks ago to tell you I'd passed out in team sports while on the sideline and that they were suspicious of anorexia? I made myself look much more ridiculous than you think I did today. I made up some story about being anxious about the pageant."

"Well, if you weren't as dumpy as a horse—must come from your father's side—you wouldn't have to watch your weight. You should be thankful for all I do for you, you ungrateful brat. When I think of all that I've sacrificed, all the things I've done for you, I shudder at all the times you never said thank you. The least you could do is what I ask, and that's not much…" I tuned her out, too exhausted to argue. One moment I've got her imagined voluptuous curves of twenty years ago, the next I'm a dumpy horse. My stomach turned over in hunger and I thought wistfully of the mushroom ravioli I was forced to skip over when we stopped at a bistro in Jackson.

We passed by McHenry and back into the De Soto National Forest, and I knew we were close to home. I hated Biloxi, but solace from a confined space with my mother couldn't come soon enough. I struggled to find my happy place as my head gently fell against the window and my eyelids closed. They wouldn't open again for a very long time.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself surrounded by stark white, beeping monitors, blinding lights, and a half-concerned, half-bored face. I looked around to take in the colorful cards and bouquets around the room—mementos from my fake friends, I assumed—as well as the heart monitor, ventilator, and IV wired to my body. I turned to my fourteen-year-old sister, engrossed in this month's Teen Vogue, who occasionally looked in my direction with worry.

"Hey, Cyn," I murmured quietly.

"Oh, Ali, you're awake! You've been out of it for days," she exclaimed, rushing to my side.

"What exactly happened? Did Mom get into a wreck or something?"

Cynthia blushed prettily. "Not…exactly…well, you fell asleep in the car on the way back from Vicksburg, and we couldn't wake you up. Mom just figured you were really tired, and she was going to take you to bed, but she felt your pulse, and it was really, really slow, and so here you are." She paused for breath for half a second before plowing on. "The doctors have been having a ton of angry talks with Mom—they say she's an unfit mother because even though you're old enough to know right from wrong, that everyone knows you don't want to do pageants and Mom's mean for making you, and Ali, you only weigh 85 pounds or so, and I think the doctors want to get someone to take us away…who will take care of us? What if they don't let me have parties?" Cynthia's eyes filled with tears. "They're going to come talk to you as soon as they find out you're awake. You've got to think of something, Alice!"

"Um, Cyn, what exactly do you want me to do, lie to them?"

"If you love me, you'll do it!" I sighed. I did love my little sister, despite the fact that sometimes her head seemed as empty as a flowerpot, but I didn't have time to answer.

"Giselle, I will see my daughter. She's one-half me, too!" I heard my father's angry voice approaching.

"You most certainly will not. It's because you were so unsupportive that we left anyway; why do you think she'd want to see you?"

"You're being ridiculous."

"No, Mark, you're being ridiculous! Now get out of my way!"

"Could you please take your argument somewhere else, Chief Brandon and Ms. Bertrand? You're disturbing the other patients!" implored a doctor following along behind as all three of them burst into my room.

"Oh, Alice," twittered my mother as she approached my bed. She gave me a light, Chanel Mademoiselle-drenched hug and an air kiss, hovering like a golden insect. "You gave us quite a scare, young lady. I trust you're going to take better care of yourself now, hmm?" Her green eyes, a mirror of my own, searched mine with fear and a hint of a warning.

My father intervened, wrapping my tiny frame in his lumberjack-sized arms. He kissed me soundly on both cheeks and kept an arm around my shoulders. The warning he sent my mother with his doe-like eyes was obvious. Touch my daughter and die, they said.

The doctor, whose nametag read Platt, cleared her throat slightly. "Chief Brandon, Ms. Bertrand, Cynthia, I hate to interrupt, but I need you to go to the waiting room. I need to examine Alice and ask her a few questions."

My mother's eyes met mine once again, and Cynthia sought my gaze as well. Finally, my father's eyes connected. All three sent very different messages: a warning, a begging, a promise. Whose would I take? I sighed and toyed with the hospital bracelet around my wrist as the doctor checked the charts at the foot of my bed.

"You have some very serious health problems, Alice," she said, frowning at me.

I smiled at her as charmingly as I could. "What do you mean?"

"You're sixteen years old and weigh 85 pounds."

"But I'm only 4'10''."

"Yes," said the doctor, frowning deeper, "but your iron and potassium levels are way down. We've diagnosed you as anemic. I could tell during my preliminary examination that underneath all that cold cream, you've got incredibly dry skin. You've got tiny, random little bruises all over your body. Tell me, Alice, do you suffer often from headaches, difficulty concentrating, extreme fatigue, or faintness?"

"Well, I fainted in team sports last week, but I was just nervous about the pageant," I floundered.

"I'm not a stupid woman. I can tell by looking at you that you're not into this beauty queen stuff."

I sighed. There was no getting past her. "Okay, fine. Yes, I have headaches frequently, I'm exhausted all the time, I can't concentrate in school, and I get dizzy every time I move."

Dr. Platt's expression turned to brooding. She reached into her front pocket and pulled out a small hand mirror. Handing it to me, she said, "Look at yourself, Alice. What do you see?"

I was confused by her question, but I examined myself in the mirror. High cheekbones, green eyes—river eyes, my dad said—long mane of black curls…all marred by chipmunk cheeks. "I have cheeks like Fat Albert," I said.

Dr. Platt checked my chart again. "You were diagnosed with obsessive compulsive disorder earlier this year. But Alice, this goes beyond that—you meet the criteria for anorexia nervosa."

I laughed nervously. "What do you mean? I eat all the time. I love to eat."

"What did you have to eat three days ago, then?"

Wait…three days ago? Did I hear her right? My blank expression betrayed me, for she added, "That was the day of the pageant. You passed out then and have been out ever since."

"…oh…well, I had some oatmeal for breakfast…and I can't remember after that…" I was losing this battle.

"Could you possibly have difficulty remembering what you never ate in the first place?" Dr. Platt took my hand in hers kindly and carefully. "Your sister has assured me that you felt pressure from your mom, but that she didn't force you to do anything. Is this true, honey?"

"My mom never made me do anything I didn't want to do," I mumbled, looking down. I was a liar, but I didn't want to make Cynthia suffer just because my secret had been found out.

"I've already had a talk with your mom. She's agreed to go with what I prescribe, and I want to do what you want to do. So I have three options for you: remain at home, retire from the beauty queen scene, and adhere to an outpatient therapy program; go into an inpatient facility; or move to Washington to live with your dad, where you will be treated by a good colleague of mine there, who will send reports to me weekly. What do you say, Alice?"

I knew what my choice would be immediately. "I want to live with Dad," I said, appreciating the confidence in my voice. I hadn't felt sure about something for a long time, but I was positive about leaving Biloxi behind, hopefully for good. Dr. Platt smiled and left to go tell my folks.

Cynthia flew into the room first, hugging me tightly. "I knew you'd save me," she breathed into my ear. "You're the best sister ever, and I just love you!"

My mom followed in stiffly. "You're sure about this, Alice?" she asked, looking almost pained. I wouldn't let myself be fooled; I doubted seriously that she would consider this a great loss to the household.

"Yes, Mom. I'd like to try living with Dad." I met her gaze with gravity.

"It's just that you're so different, and there aren't pageants or prep schools—I mean, Forks High only has three hundred and fifty students…how much of a social life do you expect to have?"

"Mom," I rebuked gently, "I never wanted this. This is your life, not mine. Develop Cynthia into the next Miss Teen USA. She loves this stuff. I just want to take pictures, play piano, and dream about Jane Austen's men."

She sighed and raised her eyes skyward. "You've always been your father's daughter," she said, a sentence roughly synonymous with, "You've always been a complete freak who can't possibly be related to me." But I took the sentence with pride. "Well, while you're here," she continued, "I'll pack your things so I can put them on a truck. I'll make all the arrangements with school so that you can leave next week." She nodded to Cynthia and they both left, blowing identical air-kisses at me.

Next my dad came in, his eyes dancing. "It'll be an old-fashioned adventure, Ali, just like we used to have. I'm so happy you're coming to live with me, honey."

"Me too, Dad. Truly."

I meant it. Really, I did. But I had a hard time fitting in, and while no one would know of my past here in Biloxi, everyone would know me as the new southern girl, a total oddity in small-town Forks, and the chief's daughter by his crazy Cajun-turned-Mississippian wife. As I turned my gaze out the window to the heat shimmering above the asphalt of the parking lot, I shivered as I thought of the rain, damp, and cold, as well as the prospect of being utterly alone.


	3. First Sight

First Sight

I was discharged the very next day with a "clean" bill of health, an order to eat, and a referral to a Dr. Cullen in Forks, but I didn't leave for another week so that Mother could settle school transfers and Dad could wait for my few important belongings to arrive. Mother wanted to make my absence look as normal as possible, but lies here are a dime a dozen. I had a circle of fake friends, or as my sister called them, "frenemies," who were boy-obsessed, overly-made-up, typical girls with alcohol and football players at all their parties. Thanks to them, I had a going-away party. But these girls were smarter than anyone gave them credit for. The last week, all the remarks started. In the dressing room after team sports one day, one of them said, "Alice, you're so _skinny!" _which was like saying, "Alice, your boobs are so _tiny!"_ Another one slipped me a seemingly well-meaning farewell card in American Literature, reading, "Have fun on all your new adventures! But leave your 'friend' here with me, would you? I've got a big competition coming up!"

I couldn't bring myself to appreciate the half-given efforts of half-brained girls. I could only groan instead that this didn't become obvious to them sooner, when I wasn't good at all at hiding things. Then again, everything here was veiled by a thin mask of lies that no one ever dared lift up. Of course they all knew, and of course they would never have said anything about it.

My mother was silent on the drive to the Gulfport-Biloxi International Airport. There wasn't much need for words between us. The words that most mothers would say in this situation I couldn't picture coming from her. Likewise with me; I couldn't say I was going to miss home. My life here was so empty and meaningless that there was nothing to miss. I was close to nothing but familiar with everything. But I wasn't as excited as I should have been about moving.

Standing before the security checkpoint of Terminal A, my mother enveloped me in a rare, warm hug absent of Chanel. "Honey, you know if you get homesick, you'll always have a home here," she said, and she looked pained. For half a second I was stricken with fleeting visions of a nightmare life in Forks coupled with my mother upset and lonely and Cynthia being the reluctant pageant competitor. I shook my head slightly to clear it. Cynthia would eat this pageantry up, and my mom probably wouldn't act as if my leaving were the end of the world; likely she'd be more embarrassed than anything else.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. "I'll be fine. I'll write when I get there," I promised. I hoisted my carry-on to my shoulder and threw my insulated rain jacket—which contrasted sharply with the yellow, sleeveless, ruffled top I was wearing—in the top of the bag.

"Well, goodbye. Tell your father I said hello," Mom said as she turned to leave. I glanced over my shoulder as I passed through security, and she raised her hand in farewell. I had plenty of time to puzzle over her uncharacteristic goodbye as well as the possibilities of my new life on the long journey from Biloxi to Dallas to Seattle to Port Angeles. I should have known as I stared at the glorious sunset making pictures on the cloud cover above Forks that it would be the last sunset I would see for a while. We descended into a faint drizzle and endless green, not unlike summer showers in Mississippi. As I stepped down the tiny stairs to the tarmac, I realized the similarities stopped there, and I immediately reached for my jacket, shrinking inside its promised warmth.

I had been worried about coming to live here since I decided to do it, not only for myself, but also because even though my dad and I had more in common than I did with my mom, I'd never lived with him or any other male for more than a short length of time. Dad's house only has one bathroom—something else I wasn't accustomed to—and I knew he couldn't cook much of anything that wasn't deer or fish, yet he disdained my mother's choice of diet as "rabbit food." Besides that, neither of us was terribly comfortable talking about our feelings. I supposed that it would be a learning experience for both of us.

My dad, the good Police Chief Brandon, was waiting for me in baggage claim, where I only had to fetch two bags in addition to the one I was carrying. The only things shipped last week were my book and music collection, a box of sheet music, and a table lamp. I didn't have many personal belongings important enough to me to take with me, and my Mississippi wardrobe was ill-suited to the cold and rain of Forks, so most of my clothes were sold at a garage sale. "Hey, Ali," my dad greeted me with a smile and automatically reached for the largest of my bags, which fit easily in the trunk of the police cruiser—my main motivation for selling off many of my clothes and personal belongings. Fitting in would be hard enough without being taxied around in the cruiser, but Dad had already promised to help me out.

"I'm really happy you're here, Alice," my dad said with his eyes fixed on the road, and I knew the truth behind what he was saying. "I hope you can be happy here…away from your mother," he added with a sly smile.

I laughed out loud. "At least some happiness is guaranteed just from that." My mother isn't evil, and she doesn't hate me. She's just mildly crazy and not respecting of people's individualities, I've decided.

"Hey, I've got some great news for you, honey. Do you remember Billy Black? He lives down the coast at La Push."

I searched the recesses of my memory and vaguely recalled fishing trips and Mariners games along with a little boy and twin girls. "I think so."

"Well, he's in a wheelchair now, and he and his son offered to sell us their old car, since Jake is working on his own project."

"Wow, what year is it?" I could tell he wished I hadn't asked, but I pressed on. "I mean, age doesn't bother me, as long as it doesn't break down—"

"Really, Ali, it's reasonably new and in perfect condition, even when he did drive, Billy didn't drive much."

"How new is 'new'?" I asked hopefully.

"Uh…well…it's a VW model 1600…" Dad said sheepishly. "I think it's a 1969."

I wasn't disappointed, but I tried not to sound worried. "I don't know a lot about cars, Dad. I can check oil and coolant and radiator fluid levels and add more, and I suppose I could change a tire, and I can pump gas, but really that's about all…"

"You don't need to worry about a thing. The thing is in fine condition. Checked it myself." He peeked at me with a hopeful expression.

I smiled. "I'll check it out," I promised.

"You can check it out tomorrow on the way to school."

Wow, a free car? "You mean you already bought it?"

"I want you to be happy here, honey, and Billy gave me an incredible deal."

"Dad, that's incredible, thank you! I really appreciate it," I exclaimed.

"You're most welcome," he said gruffly, clearly embarrassed by my praise.

I turned my attention to the new world outside the window for the rest of the ride, and Dad concentrated on driving as the rain picked up. I couldn't deny that Forks was beautiful and would make for some great photography, but already I missed even the slightest bit of sunshine and warmth—not as much as I had in Biloxi, but a little more than I knew I'd get here, in the town with the most annual rainfall in the continental United States, maybe in the continent of North America.

We made it to the same two-storey white house my parents had purchased in the early and only days of their marriage—Cynthia was, in fact, my half sister, for my parents were divorced before my first birthday. The house had the same homey front porch, welcoming front yard, and small back yard bordered by vibrantly green woods that I remembered. I caught my first glimpse of my new car as we pulled into the driveway, and I instantly fell in love with it. It was completely undented, and its mint green paint was as shiny as it must have been the day it left the factory. It was cozy yet roomy, and despite its small size, it was undeniably solid and had brand-new windshield wipers, I noticed, an essential for this town.

"Wow, Dad! I love it; it's perfect for me. Thank you so much!" I exclaimed. I could cross "Taxi Service with Police Cruiser" off my list of worries. He smiled in response, clearly embarrassed again. He didn't have much time to be embarrassed as we both noticed the boy sitting on our steps and the man in the wheelchair next to him. The boy, my childhood friend Jacob Black, had flawless, beautiful russet skin and flowing raven hair, which had only gotten more beautiful with the passage of time. I figured he was probably fifteen now, for his face, which was starting to chisel itself out, still had some childish softness about it. He awkwardly reached for me in a one-armed hug.

"It's great to see you, again, Ali. I'm glad you like the car. I tried to make it special," he said, glancing down with a blush.

His dad wheeled up behind him with a devilish grin. "Well, Alice, it looks like you haven't grown any taller…" Billy trailed off.

I grinned widely, remembering this joke well. "At least I can stand up for myself," I stuck my tongue out at him. Billy and Jacob didn't stay long, just long enough to give my dad the keys and talk about the next Mariners game they'd watch together, while Jacob cast glances in my direction that I imagine he thought I couldn't see.

After they left, Dad helped me carry my bags up the narrow stairs and into my bedroom. It was much as I remembered with its unfinished wood floors, pale blue walls (Alice blue for my Alice, my dad had said after he painted over the pale pink of my childhood a few years ago), white-and-sage green eyelet curtains. He'd rearranged the furniture, placing the bed next to the windows that overlooked the woods and the small, overstuffed chair across from it. He'd also added a shelf by my bed, where he'd placed my books and CDs. A desk stood in the corner by the door and closet. But what really struck me was what was hanging on the walls. Tastefully framed and arranged photographic prints hung on the walls, and I recognized them as my own. I turned to him for an explanation, and he gave me a sheepish smile. "I told you I always had a place for the pictures you sent me," he replied.

He left me alone to unpack, and I put my new wardrobe away in the closet. At least whatever difficulties I might face tomorrow would be compensated for somewhat by my sense of fashion. Though arguably idiosyncratic, others, my mother excluded, seemed to like my methods of taking expensive fashion ideas and creating them out of very inexpensive clothes.

I flopped on my back on my bed, covered with the same yellow and green quilt my Grandma Marie made for me when I was born. I dreaded being the new girl, something I'd never had to experience. I knew from my visits up here that Chief Brandon's super eccentric, half-crazy Cajun ex-wife was infamous, and I was considered a slight oddity, both because of my background and my occasional presence. I imagined the odd factor would increase tenfold since I was abruptly coming to live here. And there was the Southern factor. I knew, also from experience, that just about everyone north of the Mason-Dixon line thought that southerners were toothless, barefoot rednecks who hated black people, gay people, Hispanic people, and everything and everyone that wasn't Jesus and fried chicken. They also seemed to expect me to either be pregnant or a mother already. I didn't even have an accent. I hated the heat and humidity of the South. I hated fried chicken and Nascar. And I most certainly was not pregnant.

I entertained the hope that no one knew I was practically a Barbie doll, but knew it wasn't a secret. I knew I didn't look like a pageant queen under all the make-up, which I vowed never to wear in excess or possibly at all ever again. I was slightly freckled and sallow, my green eyes were sunken, my black hair was slightly wavy and brittle—all effects of basically starving myself. I sighed as I thought about my first appointment with Dr. Cullen in a few days. As soon as dinner was over (fish fry, as I expected, and I resolved to buy some cookbooks at the first possible opportunity) I went to bed, very tired from travel and unexpected jet lag.

That night, despite the noise of the wind and rain, sleep came easily. I had my first dream in a while, always a dangerous and exciting occurrence, because my dreams always came true in some way. My dreams were fleeting, shattered images, like waves scuttled across the surface of a pond by the wind. I saw a beautiful girl with tawny eyes and mahogany hair walking arm-in-arm with me, and I could feel even in my dream that the bond between us was deeper than sisterly. The dream shifted and I saw a woman perhaps ten years older than my "sister" who had all the glory and sophistication of a silent-movie starlet. Her caramel hair hung in gentle curls around her sweet, heart-shaped face, and she had her arms open, as if beckoning me to come inside them and feel a mother's love I'd never experienced. The dream shifted again, and I knew that had I been awake, the image would have taken my breath away. I saw a living, breathing, modern-day Adonis, a golden Greek god before me. He had honey-colored hair, not quite blonde but not quite brown. His skin was as ivory-white as mine but absolutely flawless. His golden eyes were warm and full of love, and he was altogether so glorious it hurt to look at him. And somehow in my dream I knew he was completely and irrevocably mine.

I woke up suddenly, exhausted from my dream. I had ten minutes until my alarm rang, but I got up anyway. In my prophetic dream, I had seen myself, and my dream-self had given me an idea of how to shed the beauty-queen persona before it emerged. Making my way to the tiny bathroom, I quickly showered, towel-dried my hair, and located a pair of sharp shears in the top drawer. In just five minutes, my long waves were transformed into a neat, spiky, slightly sassy cut that hung around my chin. Needless to say, Dad commented on it with surprise. "You cut your hair! Good thing your mother can't see it…but I like it. It's much more you," he added. Breakfast was quick and quiet, and I made my way out to my car in the ever-present rain. It started with a quiet roar that softened to a load purr. It had surprising power for its age, but not much speed. At least it would keep me from getting in trouble.

I easily located the high school, and its collection of house-like buildings reminded me of my old private high school. The attendant in the front desk raised her eyebrows as I gave her my name. I was undoubtedly a subject of frequent gossip—of course my father had had time to tell everyone that the daughter of his insane ex-wife was coming home at last. But I made it through my first two classes, English and French, without much difficulty other than having to introduce myself and telling everyone that I was just Alice, not Mary-Alice. The English syllabus included Chaucer, Shakespeare, Austen, the Brönte sisters, and a handful of modern British authors, promised to be familiar, if not challenging. The Advanced French class seemed to be largely working out of readers, working on _Le petit prince_ or _Le petit Nicolas. _In my third class, gym, I was made to sit out on the sidelines while everyone else paired off for badminton. I supposed Dr. Cullen or my dad had phoned the school. So much for not attracting too much attention. I followed a slim brunette and a tall redhead to lunch, and they invited me to sit with them, introducing themselves as Kate and Elizabeth. Kate was shy, sweet, and bookish. Elizabeth had a good sense of fashion but seemed to have an air of social-climbing about her.

It was at lunch that the floodgates burst open and people attacked me with questions. Finally I was the new girl, the oddity, the rarity and intruder in the private world where everyone had been together since their great-grandparents were born. Kate and Elizabeth introduced me to Dylan, a pale and pimply Lord of the Rings-type who thought he was terribly suave; Landon, a baby-faced wannabe jock who was very nice but tried too hard; Jack, an overly helpful newspaper/yearbook worker; and Morgan, a tanned, tall girl who oozed queen bee. I could see that Elizabeth wanted very much to be Morgan's best friend. I could feel the ire of both of them as Landon blushed and asked me, "So, Mississippi, what's it like in the Deep South?"

Dylan cut in with a slightly sly smile. "I see you have shoes and know how to read."

Morgan thought this was hilarious, and she shot me a cruel smile. "I also don't have an accent, nor am I hiding any illegitimate children," I shot back as goodnaturedly as I could.

I vaguely kept up with their conversation, which revolved around an upcoming trip to First Beach by La Push. "Mary-Ali—oops, sorry—Alice, are you going?" Jack asked hopefully.

"Probably. I have a good friend who lives on the rez," I replied, fighting off my annoyance.

Suddenly I noticed a group of newcomers to the cafeteria. My pulse escalated to helicopter speeds and I stopped breathing as I beheld the most beautiful, flawless group of people I'd ever seen. "People" didn't cover it—they were definitely otherworldly. They all moved with fluid grace and had matching milk-white skin, much paler than mine. Their identical coal-black eyes were accentuated by violet smidges underneath, as if none of them had slept for days. Two of them, a mahogany-haired girl and a honey-haired boy, I'd seen in my dream. That's why I was having a quick and silent breakdown, although their attention seemed to zero in on me as if they could hear my helicopter heart, especially the boy from my dream and a taller, lankier bronze-haired boy. The third boy was huge, almost bearlike, and well muscled, but with a childlike face. The remaining girl was devastatingly lovely, shapely, with golden waves flowing down her back. I could practically hear the self-esteem of all the other girls in the room plummet.

"Who are _they?" _I choked out to Kate.

"Oh," she replied in my hushed tones, "they're the Cullens, except for the blondes, the Hale twins, Jasper and Rosalie. They're Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's adopted kids."

"They're all _together_," Elizabeth cut in, her voice holding all the condemnation I was accustomed to from the South. "Like, together-together. And they _live_ together!"

"They're not really related, are they?" I asked innocently.

"Oh, no, only the Hales are actually related, and Edward, the redhead, is Mrs. Cullen's nephew or something. I think she can't have kids," Kate answered. So the scandal was significantly reduced, then.

"So who are the rest of them? And who's together?"

"Bella, the brunette, and Edward; and Emmett, the really big one, and Rosalie."

"What about Jasper?" I asked somewhat hopefully, savoring his name in my mouth like the smooth stone that was his name twin.

"Don't even try," Elizabeth cut in again. "He might as well not be available, because he doesn't date. None of the girls here are good enough for him," she sniffed. I could almost see her turning green, and I smiled in my head, wondering how many times she'd been turned down. As if he could hear this exchange, Jasper looked into my eyes and straight through me, or so I thought. He shifted his eyes so quickly that I might have been mistaken.

The bell rang for fourth period, and Jack and Dylan both appeared at my side. "So, uh, Alice, what class do you have next?" Jack asked.

"Calculus in building four," I answered, digging for my map.

"You're in Calculus?" Dylan asked, obviously surprised.

"Er, yeah. Why, aren't you?"

"No," he answered, "it's usually a senior class. You must have taken some hard stuff in Mississippi." The awe was present in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, we _do_ know how to count without using our fingers and toes." I didn't think trigonometry as a sophomore was that hard, but apparently it was.

"Well, sorry, but we both have Spanish next door. Good luck with the seniors, and I hope you can find your class," Jack said much more kindly. I hitched the straps of my bag up higher on my shoulders and followed a lime green and an orange raincoat through the cafeteria doors to building four. I arrived a few minutes late, the badly squeaking door plainly announcing my arrival. The teacher, Mr. Hunt, asked me a few questions about my previous math classes.

"Well, Miss Brandon, it's a pleasure to have you. I expect great things from you; you're the only junior I have taking Calculus this year, so you'll go on to take Statistics or Calc II next year. What other math classes did you take at your old school in Biloxi?" he asked kindly.

Relieved to not have to go through the spiel of telling the class about myself, I said, "I took Mixed Algebra II and Geometry as a freshman and Trigonometry and Advanced Algebra III last year. At my school, we were on the block schedule with four classes a term except for math, which was year-round and covered two different subjects."

"I see. I'm sure your state test scores will arrive in the next week, and I'll know better how to place you, but for now, if you would please take the seat next to Mr. Hale in the back, and we'll get started." I noticed then that there weren't desks in the room but tables with seating for two people, and the seat next to Jasper Hale was the only empty one in the room. My heart sped up as I picked up my new calculus book and made my way through the sea of backpacks to the back of the room.

As soon as I sat down, he stiffened like someone had shocked him. He seemed to lean away from me as far as the chair would allow. I wondered if he _had_ heard the conversation at lunch and had been offended. I wondered if _I _was the offensive one. I knew I hadn't eaten anything toxic at lunch—no breath harm could come out of a spinach salad, an apple, and a bagel with cream cheese—and I casually sniffed what was left of my hair, but it smelled like mint and lavender, same as always. I dared peek out of the corner of my eyes at him and instantly wished I hadn't. He was glaring at me reproachfully like I'd just called him the worst name in the book. I shuddered involuntarily, anger and sadness filling me. Maybe my dream had been wrong, but how? My dreams were never wrong, ever. He had undeniably been the one, but this was not the reaction I wanted or expected. I tried my best to ignore him and copy down the notes Mr. Hunt put on the board. An excruciating hour later, the bell rang and Jasper shot out of the chair like a rocket.

Hiding my hurt and confusion, I stumbled to Economics, where I met Kate, Landon, and Jack. I didn't absorb a word of the discussion of Adam Smith's _The Wealth of Nations_ and the invisible hand theory, but I noticed that Kate sent many longing glances in Jack's direction. He was annoyingly over-helpful, but he meant well, I knew, and he seemed smart. I daydreamed and played the Calculus scenario over and over until it was time for Physics, since I'd already taken Biology and Chemistry. My heart froze and hand shook as I handed my schedule over to Mrs. Kerr. Once again, there were tables instead of desks. Once again, there was only one chair open, and it was next to Jasper Hale.

Cautiously I sat next to him, carefully gauging his reaction. He seemed less openly angry but still kept his teeth clenched together and his hand locked around the wood of the table the whole time Mrs. Kerr showed a video on force and centripetal motion. Once again, he sprang from his seat as soon as the hour was up, and I hurried out to the parking lot to leave. At home I sent an email to my mom from the computer in the living room, started making lasagna, which was the only thing I could make so far that Dad would eat, and immersed myself in the words of Geoffrey Chaucer and his _Canterbury Tales_. Dinner was brief and pretty quiet. Mostly I lied a lot about how great my day was.

At the first possible opportunity I took a long, calming shower and put on an old pair of sweatpants. I'd started this day with so much optimism, but I watched the rain sliding down my window and unashamedly let the tears roll down my cheeks. That night I dreamed again of Jasper Hale, and when I woke up startled in the middle of the night, in a flash of lightning I swore I saw him watching me curiously from across the room. In the next flash of lightning, he was gone. I didn't see him again for two weeks.


	4. The Good Doctor

The Good Doctor

After waking up in the middle of the storm, I was unable to fall back asleep. I restlessly tossed and turned for an hour. The clock read 3:37 a.m. when I decided to get up. I flipped on my table lamp and wrapped myself up in the thick, soft crocheted blanket draped over the foot of the bed. I reached for the shelf by my bed and smiled as I noticed an addition—Dad must have found the dragonfly lights I used to have and put them back in here. The string of delicate, jade, silk dragonflies danced along the bottom edge of my shelf and around my bedpost. I found the book I was looking for, _Pride and Prejudice,_ and began it again for what had to have been the hundredth time.

Every time I read Austen or just about anyone else who predated World War II, but especially Austen, my mother demanded how I could read them because they were so dated and inaccurate and irrelevant. But as I read over Darcy's first encounter with Elizabeth at the Meryton ball, I couldn't help but wonder if it was so irrelevant to my own life after all. Darcy considered Elizabeth so far below him, even saying, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me." Did Jasper think of me that way? Was I below him? I definitely didn't have the money he obviously did, for though dressed simply and tastefully in a gray sweater and jeans, the sweater was cashmere and the jeans were slightly fitted, as if made especially to his form. I knew I definitely didn't compare to his looks. What could have gone so wrong from my dream? I sighed and tried to calm myself down. If I could do it without waking Dad, I'd make some tea. My dreams were pretty certain, but not immediate, I reminded myself.

I spent so much time puzzling that I was still awake when my dad knocked on the door. He ducked his head in. "Storm kept you awake, I see. I thought I'd remind you that you've got your first appointment with Dr. Cullen this morning at 9, and I've got to head on over to the station. Don't feel like you need to rush home. Enjoy your Saturday and explore Port Angeles a little! Oh, and please eat some breakfast, will you, honey?" Concern slightly lined his face. I sighed again and swung my feet over the edge of my bed, grabbing a skirt, tights, and sweater for the day. I was ready and downstairs in twenty minutes. There was no need to dry my hair in a place where it never stopped raining, but I didn't mind. To appease Dad, who was part-psychic and would know if I'd eaten or not, I put a spoon of strawberry preserves on a piece of toast and headed to the hospital.

I had more than an hour on the Olympic Highway to obsess further on my strange day, but much to my intense surprise, it wasn't raining. It wasn't sunny, but at least my wipers weren't necessary, and the strains of The Weepies were audible without the constant accompaniment of wind and rain. I hated that I started school on a Friday. It meant two full days without seeing the mysterious Jasper Hale. I wanted to give him a kick in the shins and ask him what his problem was. I realized with a sick feeling of dread that the doctor I was going to see was the very same one who adopted him, and I prayed above everything else that he wouldn't ask me if I knew his children. I fiddled with the radio to distract myself. When I reached Port Angeles, I found the hospital easily because it was pretty close to the highway. Finding Dr. Cullen's office wasn't difficult either, but going inside it was.

Finally, I took a deep breath and knocked. A pleasant voice beckoned me in. Dr. Cullen was seated behind his desk, which was precariously stacked with papers. He smiled at me warmly, and I noticed he looked rather like a supermodel, with the same paleness as his adopted children and liquid gold eyes. "You must be Alice. It's wonderful to meet you. Please sit down and tell me a little about yourself." From anyone else, the invitation would be cheesy or insincere, but I could tell he really had an interest in me.

"There's really not much to tell…my dad lives here, I'm from Mississippi, I did pageants," I said lamely.

"What do you like to do?"

"I kind of play the piano. I run sometimes, and I like to take pictures. I design clothes, too." I admitted the last part embarrassedly; fashion contrasted so sharply with my other interests, and it just made me look like a pageant queen.

"According to the reports Dr. Platt and your regular doctor sent me, you're very bright and talented."

"I just like to learn," I said sheepishly. It was true. I didn't like school, but I did like to learn as much as I could about as many things as I could.

"Did you start at Forks High yesterday?" he asked kindly. Crap, crap, crap…I could feel the question coming on.

"Yes, I did," I answered, hoping to look more confident than I felt.

"I trust your day went smoothly and you met some new people. Now, Alice, I have a few questions about your life in Mississippi." He smiled, and I let my breath go as he skipped over mentioning his children. "I hope you know that anything you tell me is your business, and I won't share it with your doctor in Mississippi or your family. Do I have your permission to ask you about this?"

"Of course."

"What was your relationship like with your mother?"

I sighed. "She's like those soccer moms who force their kids to play in every soccer league in five counties in hopes of making a champion. I have never wanted to compete in beauty pageants or anything of the sort. She's not crazy, probably, and she doesn't hate me, she's just…set in her ways."

I was impressed to note that Dr. Cullen wasn't writing anything down. He was listening intently and nodded at me to continue. "Take a good look at me; I'm not even built to be a big girl. But competition is tough, and I might not have cared at all, but my mom made me care, and sometimes it's just easier to give someone what they want than it is to fight back. I lost a few pounds here and there for a while, and it wasn't anything serious."

"But…" he prompted.

"But…my mom has a harsh mouth." I felt extremely self-conscious and wondered if Washington had sinkholes to swallow me whole. "I guess I just wanted her to like me."

"Let me guess—it didn't work like that," he said gently.

"The problem with…_it_,"-I couldn't bring myself to say 'anorexia'- "is that nothing seems like a big deal. You pass out, no big deal. You bruise easily; just try not to walk into anything. I didn't expect how I'd feel," I faltered. Dr. Cullen looked at me expectantly. "I…um…I guess I maybe don't like myself very much, and lately my body hasn't been liking me much, either." I didn't mention the vivid dreams. They'd been a constant companion far longer than the anorexia had been, and I didn't need a psychiatric examination, too.

Dr. Cullen smiled. "You're much stronger than you credit yourself. Just admitting that you're unhappy is a huge step; moving in with your father can't hurt. I'm not on a tight schedule; I don't have a surgery until later this afternoon. Do you have anything else you feel ready to share?" I shook my head. I felt tired from my emotional outburst. "Well, then I'd like to meet next Saturday at 9, right here, and come prepared to get some lab work done. I'd like to take some blood samples to measure your iron and potassium levels as well as your weight. Have you been prescribed any iron supplements?"

I shook my head again as Dr. Cullen swiftly wrote out two prescriptions in handwriting that was uncharacteristically neat for a doctor. "Take these to the pharmacy. One is for iron supplements and one is for a heftier multivitamin than you'll get in the stores. Take care of yourself, Alice; it was an honor meeting you." Dr. Cullen smiled, shook my hand, and slipped me s business card. "Don't hesitate to call if you have any trouble of any sort."

The first place I found refuge after my strangely fulfilling visit with Dr. Cullen, so very unlike his son, was the Bella Rosa Coffee House, the result of my ever-useful "flip-to-a-page-in-the-phonebook-and-put-down-your-finger" method. I enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee and a copy of the _Victoria Times-Colonist_. I hadn't realized yet just how close I was to Canada and wondered if I still had a valid passport and if I could ever take a day trip there. I hadn't tried yet, but I could probably get CBC at home.

After some helpful tips from the barista, I found Balanced Books Plus, where I bought several practical cookbooks as well as Julia Child's _The Art of French Cooking._ Well, it was a dream. Still worn out from my practically sleepless nights and my emotional consultation and suddenly remembering the idea of a trip to First Beach, I sped home, although it was hardly noon. I had a message waiting from Landon, who told me the trip was postponed until next weekend because Jack, Morgan, and Elizabeth were all sick.

I spent the remainder of my weekend reading, cleaning up the house, altering some of my clothes, and dreaming both nights of Jasper, Bella, and the beautiful mother-figure I hadn't met yet. I met Monday with slightly more sleep and a mixed feeling of dread and anticipation. I'd decided I would approach Jasper in Calculus. I should have been afraid of him between the glares he gave me and the hostile emotions that emanated from him, but I wasn't. He couldn't be scarier than my mother.

As it turned out, I didn't have room for either feeling, because Jasper was conspicuously absent for one, two, three, four, five days. Every night he came to me in my dreams, which were becoming more vivid. I saw the two of us running at impossible speeds through emerald forests, at what appeared to be a diner, at prom, at a wedding (though I wasn't sure if it was ours), and a million other places. His absence seemed to directly correlate with an entire week's worth of bad days. On Monday, I found that I'd read the wrong assignment for English and failed a pop quiz, which Mrs. Porter let me take again for an average of the two grades. On Tuesday, Dylan came up behind me and scared me, and I dropped my books in a rain puddle. On Wednesday, even though I was still sitting out in gym, I became a magnet for rogue dodgeballs and got more than one in my face. The vicious cycle continued with a few wasted days in Economics and Physics, where so far we had failed to do any real work regarding physics, until it was Saturday and I was off to the doctor's again.

I set out for Port Angeles with only the rain and the gentle purr of my engine as an accompaniment. I'd taken the supplements Dr. Cullen prescribed. I'd done my best to eat at least something at every meal. Every time I felt like I really hated myself, I wrote it down in a diary to get the feelings out without starving myself. But I still felt nerves building on this hour-long drive because this visit was the real test of whether or not I'd made progress. A nurse intercepted me before I even got to Dr. Cullen's office, directing me instead to a small room used for lab patients, or lab patient in this case. I made myself as comfortable as I could in my chair, telling myself over and over, _I will not mention Jasper. I will not mention Jasper. I will _not_ mention him. I won't ask where he is. I won't ask if he's okay. I will not I will not I will—_

"Alice? You're looking well. How do you feel today?" Dr. Cullen appeared out of thin air, and I tried to cover how he startled me.

"I feel fine. Well, actually, I'm nervous because I don't like needles, which means I don't like lab work." I stood to follow him, and he nodded knowingly.

"Let me guess: you feel like you've done well in the last week and don't want bad news from the lab?"

"That would be correct," I sighed. I followed him across the room to a set of scales. I removed my shoes and had worn a long sleeved t-shirt with yoga pants to keep my weight as honest as possible.

"What do you _want_ to see?" he asked. The question startled me. I didn't want to be honest with him or anyone else, especially with myself. My fear must have shown on my face, which I could feel was flushed.

"I…don't know what I want. It's been such a part of me; I've planned my life around it. I should want to get better, but I don't know if I do. How is this logical?" I surprised myself with the hardness in my voice.

"It's not," he said frankly, "but neither is anything else in life. You admitted that you have a problem. On some level, however small, you want to get better. You've been scared with the dirty truth about what is happening and could happen to your body, and now you just need a fighting incentive. I can tell already that you've gained some weight, and your color is better. Your last official weigh-in was exactly three weeks ago, so let's see how you're doing now." I took a deep breath, stepped on the scale, and closed my eyes. Dr. Cullen shifted the heavy weights around the balance with fluid precision. Placing a hand on my shoulder, his voice seemed to smile. "You can open your eyes, Alice."

I opened my eyes to an unbelievable ninety pounds. Joy and guilt assailed me at the same moment, and I imagine my smile looked rather pained. I was glad, truly happy, that I'd gained some weight. But the other, less logical side of my brain mocked me. _You fat cow. You're going to be huge. Look at your thighs. Check out your hips. Your butt looks like a double-wide trailer. You're the dumpy little horse, just like your mother said—__**No**__, _I told the voice firmly as I went to sit back on the long patient's table.

"I'm proud of your progress, ma'am. What have you been eating?" Dr. Cullen asked.

"Once when I was here for the summer and got really sick—too sick to eat—my dad made milkshakes for me with whole milk, ice cream, and a can of liquid nutritional supplement. I've been drinking one of those a day to get my calorie count up without throwing myself out of balance. I learned that all my dad eats is fried fish and TV dinners, so I've been reintroducing things he didn't know existed, like fruits and vegetables. Every three days or so I've increased my calorie content…I had my first piece of lasagna in a long time yesterday," I smiled, somewhat less conflicted, as I remembered how good it tasted.

"Well, keep up the good work! I understand how hard this can be. I can't sympathize, but I can sure empathize. Weight gain can be a scary thing. It'll be slow going at first. It took you a long time to lose all that weight, and it'll take a while for you to gain it back, but this is a solid starting place," he reassured with pride.

After blood tests (which were painful), a questioning-meets-counseling examination (which was boring), and a physical examination by a female nurse with freezing hands (which was painful and boring), I was allowed to go home. I almost didn't make it home because I nearly died in the parking lot. I had to do several double-takes, but the smiling people walking and biking around Port Angeles confirmed it—the sun was shining. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. I was amazed. Washington was _beautiful._

Feeling full of promise and hope after my so-far positive results and visit with Dr. Cullen, I inhaled as much clean, cool air as I could. For one fleeting moment, I felt like I could do anything, including take on Jasper…if I made it through the La Push excursion today.


	5. Ghosts

Ghosts

I was surprised to find Dad at home when I got back. It was eleven in the morning, too early for Forks to be free from harm. "Hey, Ali, the deputy chief had all the reports covered and sent me home. I'm going fishing with Harry Clearwater later. How did the appointment go?" he asked as he made coffee, one of three culinary items he could make with regular success.

"I've gained ten pounds in three weeks. Oh, and I've been invited to go to First Beach today with a group of kids from school," I rushed, eager to get off the topic of my weight. I'd dealt with my health enough for one day.

"Honey, that's fantastic!" I wasn't sure if he was referring to the weight or the beach trip. "Who's going?"

"Landon Bates, Dylan Armstrong, Jack Foster, Kate McNeil, Elizabeth Pierce, Morgan Macintosh, and maybe some more I don't know about yet."

Dad nodded in approval as he slid a cup of coffee across the table to me. He probably knew the family histories of all of them. "A relatively nice group of kids, unlike some of the hooligans in town."

"What about the Cullens and Hales?" My mouth worked ahead of my brain. I kicked myself.

"What about them?" He looked at me curiously, almost guardedly.

"Not much. They keep to themselves. I can't tell if the other kids at school admire them, are afraid of them, or think they're weird. Mostly they're very judgmental."

Dad shook his head angrily. "Sometimes people just get me. The entire Olympic Peninsula is lucky to have Dr. Cullen. He's brilliant, personal, and dedicated, and he does more than just surgery. He's technically not a physician and wouldn't normally be handling your case, but your other doctors like him so much that they felt no one else would do. You like him, I can tell, and he's done a great job. We're lucky that Mrs. Cullen doesn't like big cities and wanted a smaller community. Her exterior and interior designs are well-known and in high demand. And as for their kids, well, I'm not one to judge; it's not my place. But none of them are actually related, and they've never given me a speck of trouble at all."

"Oh. I mean, I don't know any of them, but I have classes with one of the Hales." I made sure to leave out that he also was freakishly hostile and made routine appearances in my dreams.

"They're great kids. And so are the kids you're going to hang out with, unless keep them waiting much longer." Dad cast a not-so-subtle glance at the clock. I flew out the door, grabbing my rain jacket on the way—who could ever tell here—and headed to the Foster Olympic Outfitters store north of town.

I slammed my hand into the steering wheel in frustration. Either they'd left without me, or the excursion was cancelled. I turned around and headed toward First Beach, determined to have fun today. I rolled the windows down and enjoyed the sunshine, soaking up as much vitamin D as I could while I sang along to feel-good music. When I arrived at the beach, I saw a smaller grouping than I expected. "Hey!" Jack greeted me as I made my way over to the bonfire on the beach. "A bunch of people bailed on us," he explained, as I took in the group consisting of myself, Jack, and Kate. Then I noticed some newcomers approaching from down the beach, rez kids coming to socialize. One very tall guy stood out to me; Jacob looped an arm around me as he introduced me to his friends. "Ali, this is Quil Ateara and Embry Call. Guys, meet my old friend, Alice Brandon." They were nice enough, but the small group decided to go on a walk along the shore, so we didn't have real time for conversation—not to mention that Quil and Embry's immediate interest was hot dogs.

I kept my eyes fixed on the tide pools at my feet while we walked, meaning that I fell pretty far behind the rest of the group. The pebbles filling the gentle bowls of water were every color of the rainbow—many shades of gray, black, bleached bone white, lavender, seafoam, mint green, even some approaching sky blue. The aquatic plants anchored to the rocky sand undulated in the water and waved at me. Tiny silvery fish darted around the pools, chasing each other. I became aware of someone walking in rhythm with me; Jacob had fallen back to walk with me. Even though we hadn't been close since we were kids, I appreciated him waiting for me. "So, are these your new friends?" he asked casually.

I felt my nose crinkle slightly. "Sort of, I guess. I don't know anyone that well, but I guess I know these guys the best. There are some others who aren't here."

"And I'm sure you've heard all about the Cullens and Hales. They're infamous." I could hear a smile in his voice.

"I really haven't heard that much about them. They keep to themselves, but everyone else seems to be interested in them. One of them absolutely hates me, and I have no idea why…their dad is my doctor." I mentally kicked myself. I hadn't meant to tell him that.

"Dr. Cullen? What are you seeing him for? Isn't he normally a surgeon?" Well-meaning concern shone in his coal-colored eyes.

I sighed. I wasn't going to like this. "Yes, but he does…referrals, in some cases."

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Referrals? Would this have anything to do with you moving back to Forks?"

"I have mommy issues," I answered smartly.

"Hey, weren't you a little beauty queen, too?"

I groaned openly. "Yeah. Like I said, I have mommy issues. And that led to other issues." Might as well be open with him, I figured. "She wanted me to do it all along, but it's never been my thing. She pushed a little too hard, and I developed anorexia. So here I am, getting rid of my prep school existence!" I finished as cheerfully as I could manage.

He whistled low. "Wow. That definitely explains a lot. You look better than you did a few weeks ago, by the way. Well, the joke in Forks has always been that Mark's wife was half-crazy."

I laughed. "She's Cajun." Self-explanatory enough. The vast majority of Cajuns I knew were delightful and slightly eccentric. My mother was just eccentric.

"Well, what do you think of Dr. Cullen?"

"He's much nicer than his offspring." The answer burst out of me, and the floodgates of my last month spilled open. "I don't know what I ever did to offend Jasper Hale other than exist, but he really doesn't like me. Unfortunately for him, we sit next to each other in two classes, and our Physics teacher hinted at a group project in the very near future. But seriously, he skipped the last week of school, and I really think it has something to do with me. I mean, I don't smell or anything, do I? Sure, I talk a lot, and I dress up more than most people—well, except for today—and I have definite obsessive compulsive tendencies, but really, I'd love to just give him a piece of my mind!"

Jacob had stopped walking and was laughing openly. "Oh, Alice, I don't know if his absence had anything to do with you, but if you talked to him like you just talked to me, it definitely would!"

I glared at him and pushed him playfully. Despite the fact that the guy towered over me, I clearly caught him off guard, because he tumbled backward onto his backside in the tide pool. "Ahh, it's cold!" he yelled.

"Of course it's cold. This is Washington. It's the Northern Pacific, stupid." I stuck my tongue at him.

He sent a handful of water showering down over me. "Eek! Cut it out, Jake!" I shrieked.

"Oh, you want more?" He reached up from his seated position and wrenched me down into the tide pool next to him. I couldn't help it; despite the bitter cold, the sunshine warmed my spirits, and I was laughing too hard to get back up. Thankfully Jake did it for me, scooping me back up to my feet. He tousled my hair and helped me into my jacket. "It's good to have you back, Ali." His smile was dazzling and carefree.

Later, all of us sat around the bonfire as we roasted hot dogs for a late afternoon snack. Elizabeth and Landon had ended up joining us, and it did not escape my notice that they came together, and Elizabeth looked like she might possibly burst from excitement and happiness, though Landon looked significantly less enthused. I suspected that they had come together out of convenience—Elizabeth worked at Landon's mom's beauty parlor. It felt like we had barely finished eating when Jack jumped up and remembered he was supposed to work the second shift at his family's store, and he would have barely enough time to get back to Forks before it started. Kate left with him, and Landon looked eager to have an excuse to leave. Elizabeth winked at me over her shoulder as they left. That left just me and Jake.

"I'm surprised there weren't more people here," I remarked. "It's a perfect day for once, and everyone seemed really psyched about this trip last week when they all had the flu. I'm actually pretty surprised nobody invited the Cullens, as fascinated as everyone seems to be."

"Oh, they don't come here," Jake said, but his tone had a hint of finality. Like they were banned. Forbidden.

"Hmm, okay, what happened?" I wasn't buying his five-word explanation.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Just a bunch of stupid stories. Legends that my tribe has."

"Well?" I smiled at him encouragingly.

He took the bait. I could tell he liked storytelling, even if he didn't believe it. "Just watch out; this is a ghost story. Wolves are important to us Quileutes. A lot of our legends claim that we're descended from them, and it's against tribal law to kill them. But for every story about the wolves, there are stories about the _cold ones_." his voice dropped ominously.

I shivered a little in anticipation; I'd always loved ghost stories, no matter how cheesy they were. I guess it was the Cajun in me. "The wolf legends claim that some amongst us could turn into wolves—werewolves, basically. The wolves were powerful and invincible, protecting our lands from other tribes. But they had just one enemy, the cold ones. Long ago, the cold ones started encroaching on our lands to hunt, but they hunted different blood—the blood of humans. Now, there are all sorts of legends surrounding the cold ones. There's a common theme—all of the cold ones were said to be so breathtakingly beautiful that they had no trouble luring their prey to them. But our lands are protected once more, thanks to a treaty made by my great-grandfather. A pack of cold ones came to our territory, but they begged not to be destroyed. Well, 'begged' isn't right. These visitors were civilized."

"What do you mean, 'civilized'?" I asked.

"They claimed that they'd trained themselves to hunt on animals only, and only animals that were plentiful. So we agreed not to kill them or expose them to the pale-faces, so long as they didn't come onto our lands. You never know when a cold one might just get a little too hungry. But you might be wondering how all this applies to you. Well, the clan was led by a tall, gracious cold one with unfailing kindness…rumored to be like a certain surgeon you know." He paused for dramatic effect. Despite the complete farfetchedness of this story, I felt little goosebump prickles erupt on my skin. Jake noticed and grinned.

"You're good," I conceded. "Of course, none of that is true, because that would make Dr. Cullen—what, well over a hundred?—but it was interesting." Thunder crackled ominously overhead. I groaned.

"Looks like it's time to head home," he said. "But hey, I had fun. I hope you'll come down soon…?"

"Sure! Next time my dad comes down to see a game, I'll come along."

"Cool," he smiled at me gratefully as I got into my car. The rain was falling a little harder as we waved goodbye to one another and he began jogging back to his house. I cut the music and tried very hard not to think as I drove back to the house. I didn't buy Jake's story. The Cullens were unusual, but the only thing supernatural about them was their beauty. There were little things I noticed that registered a long time later, such as how super-attentive they were, how they never ate, had perfect grace, and seemed like they were just actors in a play. But that still didn't mean they were vampires. Vampires were fairy tales. I had an entirely different matter on my mind—how I was going to confront Jasper Hale on Monday.

When the day came, I impatiently bided my time until lunch. I'd spent time looking daring this morning. I was wearing heels with my skirt so I didn't look as short. Everyone estimated short people, I'd learned. I was barely containing myself by the time lunch came around. I took my normal seat, craning my neck around to see if the whole Cullen family was at school today. They were. I waited a few minutes after they took their seats, took a big breath, and said, "Excuse me, I'll be right back."

The cafeteria seemed to stretch. My heart beat loudly in my throat. My stomach churned a little more with each step. I felt blind without a dream to guide me, but my sleep had been fitful for the last few weeks. I was relying on instinct alone. The Cullens and Hales raised their eyes to me as I approached; the bronze-haired one, Edward, and Jasper seemed like they expected me. "Hello," I said. "You don't know me, but I'm Alice Brandon. I know who you are—well, everyone knows who you are, but I'm a little bit different from everyone else."

Rosalie scowled at me. Emmett looked amused. Edward looked confused. Jasper maintained a carefully flat expression; no emotion was in his face. Bella's eyes met mine with kindness, and I felt a surge of compassion and longing in my heart for the girl who was my dream-world sister. "Can we do anything for you?" she asked nicely. Her satiny voice sounded like bells ringing on a clear morning.

"Bella!" Rosalie's voice was sharp and indignant, like a violin. "She's an _outsider!" _she hissed.

"Please feel free to ignore Rosalie. I do," Bella said.

"Actually, I didn't mean to cause trouble, but no, you can't really go anything for me…except for you," I said as my eyes locked on Jasper. Surprise mingled with wariness in his eyes. "Yes, you, Jasper Hale. I had some expectations of you—" I didn't want to reveal that I had had dreams of Jasper and the Cullens before I came to Forks, but I dismissed them, not knowing any of these people or where they lived—"but I'm sorry to say you let me down. I could tell immediately that you guys like to keep to yourselves. That's perfectly fine. I respect that. Typically, I keep to myself, too. But you, Jasper Hale, are straight up rude. I don't know what I ever did to offend you other than exist, but I can't do anything about existing, living here, being in classes with you, or sitting next to you. Avoiding me certainly won't solve anything. The least you could do is show me a little bit of kindness." I spun on my heel and turned away quickly, but not before catching looks of utter astonishment on their faces. I hadn't intended to take it that far, but I didn't care. I was seething.

I took my place at my lunch table and tried very hard to ignore the stares. "What," sputtered Morgan, "was _that?!" _Her clear, fishy eyes were analyzing me as she tried to hide—admiration? Incredulity?

"Mr. Hale is in a few of my classes, and he's been less than kind. I thought I'd let him know what happens when you don't treat a lady with respect," I sniffed.

"Um, Alice…the Cullens don't like _anyone,_" Dylan pointed out with a mouthful of breadstick.

"I don't care. I didn't say he had to shower on tenderness or anything, but I don't really think he needs to act like I've just stabbed him."

The table fell silent. I looked up at all of them. Their expressions were a mix of admiration and "Are-you-crazy". Well, okay, that was fine with me; I didn't really act strictly for others' approval. The bell rang, and I sucked in some more air. Calculus next with Jasper. My showdown didn't seem so smart now.

He came into class just before the late bell. I noticed he seemed slightly less tense—not relaxed by a long shot, but less murderous. We worked silently on the chapter review, checking each others' answers without speaking. He still leaned away from me slightly, but at a less obtuse angle. He still ran swiftly out of the room as the bell rang without a single word to me the whole period. In Economics, Kate and I worked on a group project involving speculating in the stock market. I liked Kate very much. She was a peaceful sort of person who didn't feel the need to overly chatter; she left me to my own thoughts unless I felt like talking, and when she spoke, her words carried a lot of wisdom and weight. She did ask about the lunch altercation and its results. I just told her he'd backed off.

When I got to Psychics, I wasn't surprised to find my table empty. Once again, Jasper slipped into his seat just as the bell rang. Mrs. Kerr started in about a group project that would be due at Christmas that would explore the mechanics of motion. "You'll work with the partners at your lab tables," she explained, "and next term's project will be similar, but will explore light, sound, and heat. We won't spend much time on this project in class; you'll have to work out the logistics with your partner."

I dared look over at Jasper. To my extreme surprise and delight, he was looking at me _without_ a murderous glow. He seemed…regretful. He sighed. The classroom erupted in a river of murmurs. I looked at him rather pointedly, waiting for him to say something first.

"I do apologize, Miss Brandon. I haven't been terribly kind to you, and my behavior certainly hasn't been fitting for a lady. But it's better this way," he said. I froze in astonishment. His voice was breathtaking, like honey and a swell of cellos with a delightful hint of Southern twang. For the first time I noticed the scent that rolled off him in waves—it was like summer nights mixed with the crisp smell of the sea with a hint of caramel—definitely the most bizarre combination I'd ever smelled, but somehow infinitely the most irresistible in all its strangeness. His bottomless topaz eyes locked onto mine with surprising intensity. "We'll pick a topic and divide the work in half and just put it together in here," he murmured softly. I could definitely detect regret.

"Why?" I demanded.

"Why, what?"

"Why won't you be nice to me?" I caught myself from saying the ever-so-cliché, 'Why won't you be my friend?'

His eyes lowered to the table. He swallowed hard and waited a long time before answering. "I can't," he said.

I wasn't settling for that one. "Can't, or won't?" I challenged, practically mocking him. "You want to be my friend; I can tell."

He didn't deny my claim. I waited. And waited. And then: "I just can't. I'm truly sorry. It's difficult to explain—"

"I'm a smart girl," I cut in.

"Obviously," he said with a wry smile. "You're a junior in two senior classes."

"So that would imply I can handle the truth, yes?"

"Miss Alice, your intellect is hardly a matter of debate. But regardless, I think it's better if we keep our relationship confined to academics," he said with finality.

I just lost the game.

I decided, as I made my way through the rows of grocery store merchandise after school, that there was no way that I'd really lost the game at all. My dreams were never wrong; of that I was certain. History had told me that time and time again. Sometimes I just had to wait for the passage of time.

As the rain trickled down the windowpanes in the kitchen while I diced vegetables for a modification of crawfish étouffée made with fish, I thought about time in Forks. Time in Biloxi was generally just lazy, especially when it was humid, which was just about all the time. Time here seemed much more fluid. There were moments when time moved like a swift river, and other moments when it slowed to a river of molasses and nearly stopped. I easily lost track of days here, either because time was relative or because the endless rain easily blurred one day into the next.

Dad broke through my reverie then as he came through the door and hung his raincoat and holster on the hook on the wall. "Hi, honey; that smells delicious. How was your day?"

"Thanks, Dad. It's crawfish étouffée without the 'craw'. My day was fine. I got my _Canterbury Tales _test back and did well, and a partner project was assigned in Physics."

"Who's your partner?"

"Jasper Hale."

"He's a quiet one."

I laughed short and bitterly. "Yeah, that would be an understatement."

"He not like you or something?"

"I don't think so. And I don't have any idea what I did to him."

Dad smiled at me kindly. "Just give it time, honey. You're pretty easy to like. And speaking of like…I was talking to Billy today…" he raised his eyebrows at me, mocking me.

"Jake's a nice guy. He's going to be a great friend." I liked Jacob, but I had a one-track mind, and currently it was set on Jasper.

"Just be careful, Alice. Don't give the guy any wrong ideas," he warned.

"Don't worry, Dad. I'll just be myself, and I'm pretty blunt—I'll make my intentions perfectly clear. Hey, I'm going to take a shower while dinner finishes boiling. The recipe is next to the stove, so just watch the pot for me, will ya?"

The hot water of the shower soothed my aching muscles and tired mind. I concentrated on the soothing scent of lavender mixed with the clarity of mint in my shampoo. I needed to relax, but I wanted my dreams to show me more. I reluctantly shut off the water, threw on some clothes, and went to eat dinner with my hair in a towel. Styling could wait until tomorrow morning. I ate until Dad stopped examining me with the interrogation stare and went back to my room to find my cell phone ringing. I looked at the caller ID and groaned. "Hi, Mom," I answered.

"Hello, Alice. How are…things… in Forks?"

"Fine, Mom. Dr. Cullen has helped me a lot. You know, with my eating disorder." The urge to be hateful flew up in me. I knew she'd never acknowledge my eating disorder.

"Cynthia won a pageant last weekend," she said, skipping over my comment.

"Oh, good for her. Is she enjoying herself?"

"She loves it. She's very appreciative."

I groaned. "What did you call for, Mom? Was it to guilt me?"

"I called to have a dignified conversation with my daughter and ask how she is settling in a new place," she said indignantly.

"Everything is fine, Mom. Believe it or not, it wasn't raining last Saturday, and a group of kids went to the beach. It was great."

"Oh, that's nice. Erik and I went to the beach yesterday."

"Erik? Who's Erik?" I had a good memory. I didn't remember anyone named Erik.

"Honestly, Alice! The least you could do is pay the slightest bit of attention to your poor mother instead of thinking about yourself all the time. Erik is my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?! Since when did you get a _boyfriend?"_

"Oh, you know, he's that man whom I went out to dinner with a few times; we're rather on-and-off, but we just became official about two weeks ago."

"Oh. I'm sorry that I don't remember."

"Honestly, Alice, you can be so self-centered sometimes."

"Mom, you never told me about him!"

She ran right over my comment. "You know, I wish you paid half the attention to my life that I pay to yours."

"Oh, you paid attention to my life, all right. You paid attention to my life as you wanted it to be. Tell me, Mom; when's my birthday? Do I have a boyfriend? What's my favorite band? What foreign languages do I speak?" I was raging.

There was utter silence on the other line. Then my mother said, "I will not have this conversation with you when you are in this mood, Alice Brandon. I'll talk to you later. Goodbye."

Dad knocked on my door softly. "Everything okay?" I figured I'd probably been shouting by the end of the conversation.

"Your vile ex-wife called!" I shouted.

"Are you still on the phone with her? Because if you are, you shouldn't call your mother that, and I'm very disappointed in you."

"No, she hung up on me."

"Oh. Well, in that case, let the insulting commence. I'll be downstairs watching the news if you need me."

I waited until I heard his heavy footsteps disappear, buried my head in my pillow, and screamed. Somehow she always found a way to get under my skin. Even though she was far away, she lingered with the rest of the ghosts of my past just on the fringe of my vision, so that it seemed no matter where I turned, I saw the shadows of my past life around me, threatening to undo everything. As if there was a good time for her to appear. I decided long ago that my mother wasn't evil or crazy, she was just severely misguided, and she hadn't had a very happy life up to this point. But I wished sometimes that she'd never had kids—that way she'd have no one to spew poison on. I didn't want my own life to end—I just wanted a different mom.

The rain fell. I slipped into blissful sleep. My dream showed me something very, very useful. I saw myself in the Bella Rosa Coffee Shop sitting a low table, sipping a pumpkin spice latte. I had my phone in hand. It was the last day of October, my birthday. It was noon, and I was waiting. At exactly seventeen minutes after twelve—seventeen minutes for seventeen years, perhaps?—the door swung open, the copper bells on the door handle twinkled, and Jasper Hale walked toward me with a red poppy in his hand. "You've keep me waiting a long time," I said mock-severely. He ducked his head, said, "I'm sorry, ma'am," and held out the poppy. The dream left me wondering what happened next, because I woke up. I swore, once again, that Jasper was sitting in my rocking chair across from my bed, watching me. I kept my eyes on the spot where I thought he sat and flipped on my lamp as quickly as he could. I supposed it was residual sleepiness from my dream, because less than a second had passed, but he was gone like a ghost. My window was slightly, but the distance was a good twenty feet to the ground, and he'd probably break the lattice trailing up the side of the house. I shook my head to clear it of fuzziness. My birthday was only twenty days away. I grinned to myself in anticipation as I tried to find sleep and the Jasper of my dreams once more.


	6. Revolution

Revolution

I'd love to say that I returned to blissful sleep, but I wasn't that lucky. I had a fitful night of sleep accompanied by tosses, turns, and half-strangled cries as I woke up from scraps of dreams half-remembered. I'd see myself sprinting through the woods, something chasing me, but the person/thing changed each time. Sometimes I saw a ghost, a translucent little girl who was much faster than me. Other times I'd see a gigantic, russet-colored wolf. Each time, I'd hear someone's voice—sometimes Jasper's, sometimes Kate's, sometimes Jacob's—telling me to run, run faster. Each time I woke up, I felt panicked and distressed, but I had no idea why. I never had time to figure out what was bothering me, because I'd feel a wave of calm and drowsiness roll over me soon after waking. When I finally did get up for school, I had a new voicemail from my mother. This was not going to be good. Her shrill, accented voice fell around me like staccatos from the speakerphone. "Mary-Alice Ophelia. I thought more about our phone conversation." This is where a normal mother would apologize, but the full first-middle name combination had already been invoked—it could only go downhill from there. "I just don't understand you. Cynthia is so happy here. She has an active social life, she loves the balls and shows, and she's…" I could hear it: _She's everything you're not. She's a _good_ daughter._ "Well, she's much more like me than you. You've got too much of your dad in you. I guess, all things considered, all of this was a good thing. You're finally where you belong. If anything happens at home, I'll call you." _Click._

Somehow, no matter how predictable emotions become, it never keeps away the feeling. I knew what I'd feel. That didn't stop the pain. I sat with my back against my bed, frozen. The onslaught of emotions was too much at one time. Disappointment, self-hatred, hatred of her, hatred of my sister, impatience, and longing—especially longing, running like a heavy undercurrent through my veins. I loved my dad, and I knew he loved me, but as embarrassing as it was to admit, I wanted someone to take care of me. I prided myself on independence, but that didn't mean I hadn't suffered for basically raising myself. I hadn't known a mother's touch. But shallow as it was, what I really wanted was someone who would accept every inch of me and absolutely adore me. But at that immediate moment, what I wanted more than anything was a legitimate reason to stay home from school. I went only because Jasper would be there.

I'd never found Physics particularly exciting or useful. I was much more interested in the workings of the universe than I was in solving made-up problems. But Physics, obviously, was becoming one of my favorite classes. I felt pretty pathetic, but I thrived on the brief and relatively quiet working sessions with Jasper while we pretended to take notes. He seemed to relax his guard around me a little more each day. The difference was infinitesimal on a day-by-day scale, but I was observant enough to notice. It was the third day since my outburst, and he still hadn't talked more than absolutely necessary, but I felt it was only a matter of time.

My growing anticipation for Calculus and Physics meant that the first half of my day had the same viscosity of rubber cement. In English, we'd progressed to _Hamlet_, a favorite of mine, and I already had a strong idea for the upcoming term paper; Ophelia always had been my favorite character, after all. We spent each class period acting out the scenes. Needless to say, I was picked as Ophelia every day without fail. I enjoyed acting, and no one challenged me, even though I didn't volunteer myself. Several students had asked me if I was going to audition for the school musical, but I wasn't sure yet. The whole performance aspect hearkened a little too closely to pageantry right now. The Advanced French class had moved onto the passé simple tense, which I found extremely difficult. The endings for regular verbs looked too much like the endings for the conditionnel tense, and the endings for the irregular verbs were, in the plural case, complicated to read, though much less complicated to say. I wasn't the only one having unprecedented difficulty. On the good side, Madame LeFarge spent a great deal of time explaining it and drilling us. On the bad side, French seemed twice as long. I participated in Gym now, so at least motion sped up time.

Despite my lingering black mood, knowing that Jasper was next improved my mood at lunch, and I was practically humming by the time I sat down at the table. "What's with you?" Kate asked, smiling.

"I just have a good feeling about this day," I replied.

"You weren't in this good of a mood earlier," Dylan pointed out. "Did something good happen?"

"No, but it's going to," I replied with annoying—and speculative—confidence.

"Oh, do you think we'll win the football game on Friday, too?" Elizabeth bubbled. Forks High was gearing up for a huge football game between an important rival, and everyone was buzzing about it. I'd always liked watching football, but only when the game was good. My feelings told me that Forks wasn't going to be good in this match.

"No," Landon scoffed, "she's got a class with Hale next."

Elizabeth glared at him and then glared at me for attracting Landon's attention. Morgan laughed. Oh, happy normalcy.

"Seriously, Alice, what do you even see in him? He's so cold. You're not the kind of girl who needs a moody guy," Landon whined.

What was this guy's problem?! "I don't think I need you telling me what I do and don't need," I replied coolly. "You don't know him, and neither do I, so neither of us can judge him. Maybe he just looks at things from all sides, and it comes off as coldness."

"Then why were you so concerned with his behavior toward you?" he countered.

Crap. I was stuck. "Because I hadn't considered that possibility. For about half the time I've been here, Jasper has been away. I don't know him well."

"Did you hear that? She called him Jasper. It's Jasper now. Not _Mr. Hale_, and not with an offended tone of voice," Landon sulked.

"Leave Alice alone, Landon. She can call Jasper whatever she chooses to call him," Kate winked at me. I knew I liked her. I let myself drift out of the conversation, daydreaming with starry eyes about the possibilities of this day and of this weekend. I'd planned to go to Seattle to shop. I missed shopping and hadn't done it since I moved. I hated not having the money for super classy stuff, but I liked vintage and thrift stores for their character. My ridiculously flowery daydream returned to Jasper as I realized that I really didn't know that much about him, or anything, for that matter. I wondered if I relied too much on my dreams, which were subjective—they didn't always happen. Usually they did, but since they typically involved other people, whether or not my initial dreams occurred directly relied on others' actions. So far, Jasper had relaxed his guard, but he certainly hadn't expressed anything remotely related to interest.

The bell rang. I flew out of my seat and blew the cover off inconspicuousness. Jasper and I arrived at our table at the same time, and he pulled my chair out, nodding to me. I felt my face flush. Unfortunately, Mr. Hunt wanted to go over our last test problem-by-problem, so I painfully endured an hour of torture, followed by another hour of intense boredom at the hands of Mr. Driver, who showed a video I didn't even pretend to pay attention to. Finally, my wait was up, and I knew we had an open period today to discuss our projects with our partners.

Jasper was already seated when I got there. "I brought the typed information we have so far; I printed out a copy for you," I said.

He looked surprised. I was surprised with myself for making small talk, but I wasn't sure what else to say. I wanted to warm him up. "Thank you," he replied, taking them from my hand. Our fingertips brushed, and I felt an electrifying jolt stronger than a static shock, but it was pleasant somehow and lacking in pain. "I'm sorry," he said smoothly, hardly affected by the exchange of energy. I thought he was done being verbose. I pretended to stare out the window while I stole glances at him. His golden honey hair fell in gentle, slightly disheveled curls. His eyes were a dark amber color, not quite hazel, endless and layered with multiple dimensions, fringed with sandy eyelashes thick as feather dusters. He was ridiculously handsome. He was leanly built but obviously well-muscled; the way his moss green sweater clung to his chest suggested a chiseled but not overly bulky physique. He had the habit of spreading his legs out far under the table, and he was prone to shifting constantly. He was very tall, easily six feet at least. I realized just how much he dwarfed me. I'd grown since I got to Forks; Dr. Cullen surmised that I'd stunted my own growth, and my body was doing some late catching up. I was up to five feet, but I probably wouldn't reach any taller than five foot two. I chuckled to myself as I saw the mental picture of Jasper and I standing side by side…and I looked like a porcelain doll.

Jasper looked up, smiling. "What's so funny?"

I blushed slightly. I was embarrassed that I was blushing, so, of course, I blushed harder. "Nothing, really."

His gaze calculated me. "You like to keep to yourself."

My brain struggled to overcome the shock of him talking to me about something that wasn't about physics. "There's a difference, I think, between enjoying solitude and having no choice," I countered.

"Why would you have no choice?" I could tell he was serious.

I sighed and hesitated. "My old home town was not a place for keeping secrets. Now that I have the choice to share them with only a few select people, I've found I'm probably being too selective."

His eyes held mine with surprising intensity. "Don't back down. Just keep being selective until you find the lucky soul worthy of all your secrets." I felt my face growing redder. It was likely that I resembled a strawberry. He didn't look away, and neither did I. I probably wouldn't have taken myself away from his eyes until the world stopped, but I felt a weird surge of emotions I couldn't name overtake me and rise to my throat, forcing me to look down and clear my throat.

"Where are you from?" he asked in a lighter tone.

"Well, now I'd like to say I'm from here, but originally, I'm from Biloxi."

He grinned now, a true, glorious, slightly roguish smile displaying perfect teeth; he had dimples. Oh, Lord. I was such a huge sucker for dimples. He reminded me of a pirate or a gypsy. "I'm from Houston, Texas. Two southerners in the same place outside of the South…how unusual."

I grinned at his revelation of his home town—as if I couldn't tell he was southern from the slight accent, although most people probably wouldn't be able to tell—it was very subtle and probably noticeable to me only because I'd grown up with it. "Would you like to know a secret?"

"I'd be honored." I loved that I knew he was serious.

"I really, really _hate_ Biloxi."

"And why's that, little lady?" The lab reports were long forgotten. I had his full attention.

I sighed. "It's a bit of a long story. My father is the police chief here. My mother is Cajun"—here he laughed, a glorious, swell-of-cellos chuckle—"and didn't grow up with a lot of privilege. She was glamorous, though, and she always wanted her two daughters, me and my half-sister Cynthia, to follow the path that brought her into high society. She mostly left Cynthia alone and focused all of her beauty-queen and pageant and debutante efforts on me. I hated it. I couldn't be less like all of them. She…well…" No one knew about my eating disorder except Jake.

Jasper sensed my hesitance. His eyes held compassion. "Would you like to stop?"

I felt the impending wave of this morning's emotions looming over me, just about to break. The pit of my stomach hurt from the combination of emotions and emptiness—in utter guilt from my mother's phone call, I hadn't eaten yet. "I would like to tell you. I feel very much like I trust you." He looked much less happy than I thought he would about that. "But this isn't the time or the place."

"Of course," he said smoothly. My negative feelings dissipated. I yearned to know more about him. I was drawn to him like a moth to a lantern, and the internal pull had deeper roots than my fanciful, far-off dreams. Jasper was undeniably graceful, charming, and charismatic. Combined with his godlike looks, he was altogether far too irresistible for me.

"What brought you here?" I asked, curiosity overruling logic.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "The quickest and easiest answer, for my story, like yours, is not one that should be told here or now, is that both of my parents died when I was very young. Rosalie, the one who was so rude to you, is my twin sister. I apologize for her, by the way. She is…extremely protective of that which she holds dear, and she's had reasons to be distrustful of strangers. We had no living relatives, and Carlisle and Esme adopted us."

"Your mother's name is beautiful." I wondered what she looked like.

Jasper smiled wistfully. "She is an extraordinary woman. She and Carlisle are pretty young to have a bunch of adopted high school students, but she's always adored children, and she can't have any of her own. I'm very lucky to be a part of their family; I've never seen two people with such compassion or capacity for love."

His reverent tone touched me and mingled with my longing and perhaps even slight jealousy. I enjoyed my time with Jasper more than any other time of my day, but my emotions seemed to go on a rollercoaster trip every time. Everything I felt was sharper, more vivid, both good and bad, and everchanging. It was strange and wonderful at the same time. His liquid eyes locked on mine once more, and he sucked in a breath as if he meant to say something, but the dismissal bell rang, and he quickly shifted his features into a smile. "I enjoyed this, Miss Alice. I'll see you tomorrow."

I was so buoyed from the best Physics period ever that I was floating. I barely responded to peoples' calls to me in the hallway. I heated up leftovers, scrapping my dinner plans for something I hadn't done in so long that I'd almost forgotten how to do it. I baked a small chocolate torte with ganache filling. Normally, I'd either completely shun such a delicacy, or I'd eat it and then punish myself by not eating all the next day, but tonight merited a celebration. Once the torte was cooling and dinner was warmed up, I grabbed my trusty old camera, wrote a quick note to Dad, and headed to the woods to capture some of the fiery trees. I wished I got to do this more often, but developing film came at a sort of steep price. Nevertheless, adjusting and controlling each aspect of the picture was therapeutic.

I headed back into the house when I heard a car pull up. Dad had frozen in the doorway. I waved my hand in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Dad, what's wrong?"

He pointed. "Is that…a _cake_?"

"Uh, yeah. Torte, actually. Chocolate. With ganache. You know, like Nutella."

He stared at me. "_You_ baked a cake?"

"Mmhmm. We could always have dessert before dinner, if you're so inclined." I wasn't sure I was seeing the point of his exclamations.

"Wait…are you going to, you know, _eat_ the cake?"

I blew my hair off my forehead, exasperated. "Well, I didn't bake it to look at it."

A slow, easy grin exploded on his face. Then suddenly his arms were around me and he let out a whoop. "You're eating cake!" I laughed with him, celebrating this small victory and hoping more than anything that I'd feel the same way after I ate it.

The next day was a complete blur. I spent most of the night before reading just about every pathetic romance book and listening to every stupid love song that I had. I spent my classes in a daze. I managed to force myself to relative normalcy when I was directly involved in conversations, and I felt like kicking myself for acting the part of the fool with starry eyes. I think I was actually on the brink of sprouting wings by the time Calculus came around. We were collaborating with our partners on the mid-chapter review, and it was difficult. I knew I was glowing when Jasper took his seat next to me. He nodded to me, and that was that. It didn't take much time for me to realize that he didn't intend to say anything at all. He seemed almost more withdrawn than he'd been when I first came here. I wasn't sure which I felt more: rage, betrayal, or anguish. They were running a close race. "My love is like to ice, and I to fire," I whispered to myself. Edmund Spenser had a sonnet for every occasion.

I knew we had another open period for the projects in Physics; Mrs. Kerr was debating whether or not she was going to move up the deadline. Jasper and I were face to face again. He pulled my chair out for me and silently began trading lab reports with me, cross-checking the data. I couldn't take it. "Well?" I said pointedly.

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"So…yesterday's conversation, you treating me like a normal person…did I hallucinate, or are we pretending it never happened?" I was trying not to spit my words out.

I was shocked to see a shadow pass over his face. He shut his eyes and flinched very slightly, as if my words dug at him. He sat like that for a while. His eyes opened slowly to refocus on mine. The pain in his eyes nearly knocked me over as he drew a ragged breath. "This is all too complicated…I'm sorry, Alice, so sorry." I knew I'd hurt him. He had just hurt me, too. I let my sadness match his and then did something I hadn't done in a very long time. I picked up the lab reports, both his and mine, and put them into my bag. I told Mrs. Kerr I didn't feel well. And then I ran.

School was out the next day under the premise of a teacher work day, but I suspected that it had something to do with the football game tonight. I didn't care. I stayed in bed all day. Dad was at the station. It rained. I moped until I dragged myself to my consultation with Dr. Cullen on Saturday morning; thankfully, Dad had left me alone, satisfied that I was eating at least minimally. I drove listening to piano music fighting the urge to cry, and I wasn't even sure why. "You look rough today," Dr. Cullen noted.

"My week, which started off great, took a nosedive."

"What happened?" Concern wrinkled his features.

"Well, my mother called, and she basically talked about how ungrateful I've been my whole life and how I only pay attention to myself, and then she hung up on me, and then she left me a calmer message, but the message talked about how much more she likes my sister than she likes me." I was fighting not to let the bitterness overtake me; I didn't want to mention Jasper. I probably would.

"Alice, I'm so sad for you. Your mother will never know what she's missing. This sounds so much easier than it is, but you are far away from her…I'm not going to tell you not to let her hurt you any more. I'm just going to say that I sincerely hope that away from her, you can find love to fill the void she's never filled." I knew I liked this man. He didn't tell me what he thought I should do, and he never gave hackneyed advice. "I have a feeling that there is something more that you're not telling me." Never mind. I didn't like him so much now. He was too perceptive.

I sighed. I didn't know how to say it without being offensive. I sighed again. "I'm in two senior classes with your son, and in both classes, I am his seatmate and designated partner for homework help, projects, and anything else requiring partnership. We were working on a physics presentation the other day and getting along fabulously after he'd ignored me for three straight weeks, and then yesterday, he pretended none of it ever happened." I knew I had to be fair to Jasper, so I added, "He looked genuinely upset, but he said he couldn't be nice to me, that it was too complicated."

Dr. Cullen was silent for a long moment. "My son is a very complicated young man. Life has not been easy for him, despite the love and care he has. I regret that he's unknowingly taken his pain out on you, but what Jasper needs is patience. I wouldn't advise you to lose heart just yet."

I had to admire Dr. Cullen for the many hats he wore as surgeon, psychiatrist, and now a love guru. He had given me advice on his own son. I was impressed, but I couldn't help but wonder if he knew something I didn't know about his son and why I shouldn't give up heart. I had too much to think about. Dr. Cullen measured my weight, height, BMI, and body fat percentage. "I have good news for you," he smiled. "Your stats nearly put you out of the range of clinical anorexia, but I'd like you to keep taking supplements and coming back once every two weeks, because it has always been my feeling that anorexia is more in the mind than in the body."

"I'm perfectly fine with that. I'm glad to have your support." I had a feeling I'd need it as my weight rose. Old habits died hard. He let me go shortly afterwards, and I descended upon the first of my stops in Port Orleans to shop. I'd planned on going to Seattle, but I didn't have the time, and I'd planned on going to Victoria, but I didn't feel like looking for my passport. Even though I'd been in Forks more than a month, I still hadn't found a replacement for my previous careful organization system. I was surprisingly delighted with the selection I found at the first shop, a vintage boutique with good prices and better quality. The second shop had clothes that I bought to alter. I visited several more shops and came home with a full load, satisfied and revived. Until Monday morning.


	7. Anticipation

Anticipation

In the middle of the early morning, I woke up feeling like my head was splitting open. I couldn't get warm, despite my sweatpants, flannel sheets, and quilt. I pulled the heavy, crocheted afghan from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around myself. I really needed an ice pack for my head, but I had the feeling that if I stood up, I might not make it. The world tilted at a severe angle as I rose, so I swung my head to the opposite side to compensate. Gripping the wall, I slowly made my way downstairs to make an ice pack for my head and a hot water bottle for my feet. My throat felt like I'd swallowed needles. Despite the growing pain spreading throughout my body, I somehow found heavy, dreamless sleep. Dad woke me the next morning. "Alice! Alice, wake up. You slept through your alarm."

Blearily, I looked at him. I barely raised my head. "Thermometer. Now. Please."

He was back in half a minute. I pushed the button and popped the thermometer in my mouth. It beeped, and it read 101.5 degrees. "I have the flu," I rasped.

Dad subconsciously backed away a little. "Well, erm, I'll pick up some medicine for you on the way home from work. Soup's in the fridge." I groaned as he exited. How male-typical. But I'd taken care of myself before. I got a glass of water from the bathroom, drank it, and quickly fell back asleep. I woke up sometime after school, I supposed, for on the chair across from my bed was my homework from Calculus and Physics with a note attached. It simply read, "Mr. Hunt and Mrs. Kerr know you are sick. They've said to turn the work in at your leisure. I hope you recover quickly." It was unsigned and written so I couldn't tell the handwriting.

I kept up the sleep-eat-drink-sleep pattern for a solid week. Each day, my homework appeared on the chair by my bed. On the following Monday, I was feeling perfectly healthy. I'd completed all my makeup work, finally able to process intelligent thoughts. As if the world was welcoming me back, the sun was shining, and the sky was completely clear. Everyone seemed happy to have me back, except I noticed Jasper wasn't at school. In fact, none of the Cullens were. I asked Elizabeth, "Where are the Cullens and Hales?"

"Oh, they're big fans of the great outdoors, and Dr. and Mrs. Cullen pull them out of school whenever it's sunny so they can go camping," she replied, flipping her hair over her shoulders as she leaned back to soak in more sun. We were sitting outside enjoying the great outdoors ourselves. I tried not to look too disappointed.

Apparently, I failed. "What, are you still hung up on him?" Landon spat, annoyed.

He was seriously starting to annoy me. "I hardly think I need your permission on whom I'm interested in. For the record, he's my friend, when he's even anything," I said coolly.

He returned to sulking. Elizabeth sighed. The remainder of my day, despite the sun and the teachers' exultant moods, wasn't terribly good, obviously because I wanted some absolution between me and Jasper. I'd always been a constant person, and I expected the same out of others, often much to my disappointment. But I wouldn't tolerate wishy-washiness from him. That night, I prayed for rain.

A steady downpour began out of nowhere right after dark and continued, growing stronger and stronger even into morning. I could hardly wait for this day to start as I got ready for school. I love-hated myself for making myself intentionally try to be cute and alluring; it wasn't like me. It was typically the effect I received by the clothes I liked to wear, but it wasn't a habit of mine to seek for it intentionally. I paired a gray vest with a short, swirly black skirt and a dark purple and gray plaid shirt. I felt like something important was going to happen today.

The lesson in Calculus was long. I couldn't pay attention, not with Jasper sitting next to me, not with electricity and uncertainty zinging through the air. I felt a slight poking under my arm and looked down. A scrap of notebook paper had made its way under my elbow. I opened it to find a simple sentence in Jasper's distinctive, slightly spidery handwriting. 'I'm sorry,' it read, 'if I explain this all to you soon, I hope you will forgive me. I owe you so much better.' I scribbled back a reply; my bubbly handwriting contrasted sharply with his: 'You're already forgiven, though I'm not sure why…but you still had better explain.'

We had a substitute teacher in Physics, which gave us a legitimate excuse to do nothing but talk. Jasper and I stared at each other for a few minutes. I couldn't definitively read the emotion in his eyes. Finally, he said, "What would you say to cutting class? Mental health days are good for you." The roguish grin was back. All of my residual anger melted. Damn him.

"I couldn't agree with you more," I said. "Got any place in mind?" My stomach growled, reminding me of my insubstantial lunch. I was doing better, but sometimes it was still all I could do to eat an apple.

"I'm not hungry, but I know of a place that I'll bet you'll like. Would you mind driving? I ride to school with my siblings in Edward's car, and he would not be happy if I took it." He kept pace with me gracefully. He was as tall as I thought he was, but thanks to my slight growth, he didn't dwarf me as much as I thought he did—maybe a foot.

"I wouldn't mind driving," I murmured as we reached my car.

He whistled. "Wow."

"Hey, you're not going to make jabs at my car, are you? He's an antique," I mock sniffed.

"He?" Jasper was amused.

"His name is Dean. He's happy and doesn't hydroplane, and while I wish he were faster, at least he keeps me from getting in trouble," I replied.

Jasper's swell-of-cellos laugh rolled like a river, resonating deep in his chest. I felt pleased with the music selection I'd made this morning; I'd had the feeling that today called for one of my favorite classical suites, The Planets by Holst. "Jupiter" was playing, and I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel to the staccato violins and hummed to the slower chorale section, the hymn "I Vow to Thee My Country." The car was quiet without being awkward except for Jasper's directions as we headed toward Port Angeles. "What were you humming in Calculus?" he asked me

The question was not one I expected, and it stumped me. "Wait…I was humming?"

"Mmhmm." He hummed a few bars of the song in question. I laughed nervously and flushed. Man, even though we weren't close, Cynthia knew how to influence me—I was humming "Catch Me" by Demi Lovato. I really hoped Jasper didn't ask for an explanation, so I just said it was a song my sister liked.

"What's she like?" he asked.

"She's…well…she's very different from me. She's well suited to the whole debutante lifestyle. She reads Teen Vogue and loves pop music, especially the Jonas Brothers. She's fourteen. She loves me in her own weird way, and I love her, too, even if her head is as empty as a flower pot. She's very vulnerable because she believes only what she wants to. She doesn't have a very good grip on reality. And strangely enough, I think she was my best friend." I'd never thought about the impact she had on me, but no matter how close you were to someone, you couldn't live with them for fourteen years and go unaffected. I grinned deviously. "My turn! What's Rosalie like?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He sighed and raised his eyes upward. "Rosalie is the most important and beautiful person she's ever met. It took a long time for the Cullens to find us; life hasn't treated my sister too kindly. I think a lot of her vanity is a front; she has difficulty expressing just about anything outside of anger or displeasure, and while she's been told that she's beautiful, and she knows she is, it's a convenient thing to hide behind. She has a good heart, but she hardly ever lets anyone know it."

"I can understand that," I replied.

I could feel his eyes analyzing me carefully. "You can?"

"Sure. I've done it before. Girls with confidence are prettier. No one suspects girls with confidence of having any secrets," I said bitterly.

He could sense my reluctance to continue, so he fell silent again. The CD was on shuffle, so "Neptune" came up next. I thought its ethereality was appropriate. "I feel like I've heard this before," Jasper said. "What have we been listening to?"

I smiled. This was definitely a good music choice. "The Planets, by Gustav Holst. It's a suite of seven songs, each written about each of the planets."

"Uh, Alice, there are eight planets…or nine, depending on whom you ask."

I giggled. "Pluto hadn't been discovered when Holst wrote this, and he based the suite off the astrological planets, so he excluded Earth. Each of the titles references the mythological association—Neptune is the mystic, Mars is the bringer of war, and so on."

"You obviously know a lot about music."

"I wouldn't say that; I just really like it. My collection is probably embarrassing."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, my collection of history books is probably embarrassing," he replied with a smile in his voice.

"I always liked history," I said.

"I mainly focus on the Civil War."

"I've seen the Ken Burns documentary; my grandfather considered it an essential episode in my education—oh!" I realized then that Jasper's street instructions had led me to the Bella Rosa. I couldn't suppress a grin.

"You've been here before? So much for surprises," he chuckled.

"I come here every Saturday."

"You come to Port Angeles every Saturday?"

I was impressed that Dr. Cullen apparently hadn't told Jasper about our consultations. "Yeah, I have medical appointments over here. I have them with your father, actually," I added. He was definitely surprised, but he didn't say anything. As we headed up the sidewalk toward the entrance, a woman coming the opposite direction with a cell phone glued in one hand and a coffee cup in the other caught the edge of her toe on the pavement and nearly tripped. At a speed I didn't think was possible, Jasper was at her side, steadying her and catching her coffee cup all in one fluid motion. I blinked a few times to make sure that it had really happened—I knew he'd been moving really, really fast, but the woman didn't seem the slightest bit surprised. Jasper watched me closely as he held open the door for me. I ordered an egg sandwich and some chai tea. He insisted he wasn't hungry, which really impressed me, given the average teenage boy's hunger.

"Do you prefer coffee, or tea?" he asked.

"Tea, usually, but my sleeping patterns are strange, so coffee becomes a necessity. My mother used to joke that sleep was for the weak."

He nodded. "What's your favorite kind of tea?"

"Chai, especially when it's made with milk. It has a really complex flavor, and it makes me feel good. Here, would you like to try some?" I didn't want to exclude him.

He looked extremely reluctant, but he picked up the mug that I'd slid across to him and took a sip. "It's not bad," he said.

I was facing the window, and I regarded the trees leaning against the building. "Washington is like an alien planet. Things are so green for October. Sure, the leaves are changing, but the grass isn't even slightly brown."

He nodded knowingly. "I remember feeling that way when I first came here, too. Is this life better for you than your last?"

I felt the same weird surge of emotions that often accompanied a close proximity with Jasper. It was beautiful and terrible at the same time, like love wrapped in fear. "Infinitely better," I managed. "I don't really know what to make of the kids at school, but at least they, for the most part, lack the interfering condemnation of the girls at my old school." I paused. "I'd tell you about it, but I don't want to spoil the good mood I'm in."

A perfect, slightly crooked smile curved his lips. Our time passed too quickly; I didn't want Dad to worry, and Forks was an hour away. Still, my heart was soaring as I dropped him off at the entrance to his driveway. I didn't know what had prompted this sudden change in his attitude, but I honestly didn't care.

The next day, I obviously had the same expectations, but we worked straight through all our classes. Thursday, much to my chagrin, was sunny. I loved the sun when it made its rare appearances, but I hated and admired Jasper's family's commitment to the outdoors and to each other. Friday dawned gray and dreary. My heart cheered a little, until, that is, lunch. I absently twirled the stem of my apple, playing the alphabet game with each twist. …H…I…J…crack. Of course it landed on 'J'. I sought his eye from across the room as I bit into my apple with a loud crack. He seemed withdrawn even from his own family.

Calculus confirmed my suspicions. "Hello, Jasper," I greeted him as he took his chair.

"Miss Alice," he nodded, barely looking at me. Oh, so we were back to 'Miss Alice' now. Lovely. He seemed to be leaning as much away from me as the desk would allow, and he maintained the same behavior through Physics. This was just the icing on the spoiled cake of my day. I had a timed essay prompt in English that I hadn't understood whatsoever. I dropped my French homework in the rain. Economics passed without incident, but in Gym, I accidentally swung backwards a little too hard in badminton and knocked this girl's glasses right off her face. Unfortunately, Jack Foster stepped on them, and she was the Velma type without her glasses.

I tried to make my annoyance plain without being a bitch about it, though I couldn't resist saying to him, "You are annoyingly wishy-washy." Thankfully, he didn't stick up for himself, because if he had, it would have made him look pathetic, and it would have irritated me further.

Annoyance with myself replaced annoyance with him. I regretted my words, remembering Dr. Cullen's words and what had happened earlier this week. I was annoyed with myself because I wanted very much to be more upset with him. The bell rang, and I left quickly. I glanced behind me just once; Jasper was far behind me. The sidewalk was icy, leftover from last night's hard frost. The traction on my shoes was nonexistent, and I felt myself slipping. I seemed to fall in slow motion; I could feel myself pitching backwards, and I dropped my books, desperate to break my fall and keep God and country from looking up my skirt. I felt a rush of air and slowly processed that I was suspended halfway in midair, my feet braced against the ground and my upper body supported by a strong pair of arms. I turned my head to stare at Jasper. I knew he had been too far behind me to catch me, even if he had run. My eyes demanded answers. His eyes looked hard, angry, pleading, and concerned all at once.

"You might want to watch where you step," he sniped.

"How did you get here?" I shot back just as harshly.

"I was walking right behind you," he said angrily.

"Yeah, fifty yards behind me." He wasn't going to win this.

"No, Alice, I was right behind you!" His deep voice was practically begging for me to buy it.

I slid myself out of his arms and let myself fall to the ground with a thump. "Fine!" I said impetuously.

"Fine!" he replied, just as impetuously. He pulled me to my feet, gathered my books, and placed them in my outstretched hands in less than a second, stalking off quickly.

Dad was gone when I got home, but he'd been home at some point; he'd scribbled a phone message for me. "Jacob Black called. He wondered if you'd like to go to the movies tonight around 6. He said he'll pick you up. I'll pretend not to notice that he's driving."

I picked up the phone and dialed the number left at the top of my message. Billy answered. "Oh, hello, Alice! How do you like Forks?"

"Believe it or not, it beats Biloxi," I replied easily.

"Why's that?"

"My mom lives in Biloxi," I said honestly. Billy's easy laughter soothed me.

"Well, Jake said he'd like to take you to a movie, get you better acquainted with things here. Mark won't be too upset that he's driving, will he? Really, he'll be sixteen soon, and I would hate for you to have to drive down here when your place is on the way…"

I giggled. "Don't worry, Billy. Dad said he'd pretend not to notice. Jacob is a capable kid."

"Great, I'll pass on your message. I'll see you guys soon, I'm sure."

I'd thrown around the idea of calling a friend to come with me. I didn't want this to look too much like a date. I genuinely liked Jacob and didn't want to lead him on or hurt his feelings, but I couldn't count on him bringing a friend, so I decided just to play it casually. As it turned out, we went to the movies alone and saw a heinous zombie survival film that involved lots of bright orange fake blood and nuclear fall-out shelters used as zombie war combat centers. We laughed all the way through it. The serious moviegoers among us stared at us. I could read their expressions of loathing and annoyance, but I didn't care. Being an obnoxious teenager was fun every now and then—and I truly couldn't see how the others in the dark room took this movie seriously.

On the way back, I toyed with my rings—a silver claddagh with trinity knots given to me by my dad, and an ovular, orangey moonstone with darker streaks like Jupiter given to me by my mother's father—and threw around several questions in mind. I was still analyzing Jasper's behavior, from his strangely absent hunger to his ridiculous beauty and impossible speed. I mentally kicked myself for even thinking it, but I was drawing parallels between Jasper and the legend Jake had told me.

"Um, Jake? I have a couple of questions about the legend you told me a few weeks ago."

He laughed just as easily and comfortingly as his father. "Oh, you're still stuck on that story?"

"It's…interesting," I defended.

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"What were the cold ones like?"

"Hmm…" he mused, turning the radio down. "They were all very beautiful, according to legend, especially a tall blonde said to walk among them. According to my great-grandfather, some of them had special powers. One could read minds; another could sense and screw with emotions. Apparently, they all had superhuman strength and speed. Since they're the cold ones, their hearts don't beat, and they're really pale. Really hard, too. Like granite. I guess blood keeps your skin supple."

We were pretty quiet the rest of the way. I had too much to think about. I was trying too hard not to freak out about the very obvious similarities. Vampires were mythical. Forks was just about as ordinary as towns came. Just because I liked to read about the impossible didn't mean it affected my logic that much. I think Jacob thought I'd fallen asleep, and I let him think that until we got back home. "So, I have to ask," I said casually, "what prompted this outing?"

"Well, tomorrow is your birthday, isn't it?"

I started. The date that I'd been anticipating for so long for so many reasons had crept up on me. "Well, I suppose it is. Thanks, Jake!"

I made the goodbyes brief and practically flew into the house. "Hey, kid, did you have a nice time?" Dad asked, glancing up from the newspaper.

"Yeah, it was nice of Jake to take me out for my birthday," I said in a rush.

"You feeling okay? You look a little flushed. Overexcited."

I didn't like what his voice was insinuating. "I'm fine. I'm pretty tired, and I'm really, really cold." Not taking my wool coat with me had been a big mistake. The temperature changes in the last week were giving me whiplash.

He frowned in concern. "I hope you don't get sick. If you don't feel well tomorrow, you'll tell Dr. Cullen, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "Of course, Dad." Despite my eye-rolling, his concern touched me. "Oh, Dad? I might be a little late coming home tomorrow, but I'll call you," I called on my way up the stairs. He hollered up "goodnight". I stared at my clock as I lay in bed. I couldn't stand this. I needed time to jump forward about twelve hours. I rolled over with a grumble as I realized just how slow the consultation tomorrow would be.

I was right. Part of that was my fault; it was time for lab work, and I had to do a full wardrobe change. "Do you have special plans for your birthday?" Dr. Cullen asked.

I tried to suppress a smirk; if my dreams were correct, he would know. "Well, I'm just going to play things by ear." A girl could never be prepared, and my dress could be formal or casual. I'd slipped some money and my passport in my purse, just in case.

"Best of luck to you," he smiled warmly. I'd been paying careful attention to Dr. Cullen today. I noticed that he had the same milk paleness and fluid grace as his adopted children… the same characteristics and flawless beauty of the Quileutes' cold ones. I thought Dr. Cullen was never going to stop questioning me about my dietary habits—I mentioned the torte from a few weeks ago—and I thought the nurse couldn't be slower with finding a vein to stick her needle in. I got out at exactly twelve after much congratulations and celebrating from Dr. Cullen on my progress. I had seventeen minutes. Perfect time. Dean purred as I pushed him faster toward the Bella Rosa. Even though I'd made up the name as a joke to Jasper, it had stuck in my mind.

I ordered the pumpkin spice latte of my dreams, sat in the chair I remembered, and waited. I knew I couldn't rush perfection, but I really, really wanted to. Time flowed like near-frozen molasses. Then, at long last, the clock struck twelve-seventeen, and I saw my handsome gentleman coming up the walk. His gray peacoat, which, coincidentally, matched mine, was buttoned against the chill. In his hand, he held a single poppy. I didn't have the time to marvel where he'd found it. My heart beat at helicopter speeds as the brass bells on the door tinkled in his arrival. I held my breath as he approached me. "You've kept me waiting a long time," I said mock-severely.

He ducked his head. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, extending the poppy peace offering. I felt a grin of epic proportions stretching across my face. I plucked the poppy from his hand and replaced it with my own hand without pausing to think about what I was doing. I was relying on instinct alone. I relished the electric zing that flowed between our hands as my favorite roguish smile graced his angelic features. I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I trusted it would be good. I felt positively euphoric. "Happy birthday, Mary-Alice Ophelia Brandon," he whispered, squeezing my fingers lightly. We walked hand-in-hand out of the unassuming coffee shop, both of us grinning somewhat uncontrollably, ready for whatever this day would hold. This would be, undoubtedly, the best birthday of all time.


	8. Question

Question

"Would you mind spending the day with me? I'll drive," Jasper offered, his hand still wrapped around mine—sort of. He was wearing well-tailored leather-and-spandex gloves, like vintage Isotoners.

"I'm sure I could think of a thousand things to do—but I'll settle for being with you," I winked as he held open the passenger door of a sleek green Volkswagen Jetta.

"You see now why I had to laugh a little at your poor Dean," he remarked, ignoring my hiss of indignation, "because of his similarities to my car."

I sighed. "Yours is definitely faster…does it have a name?"

He glanced at me with eyes full of mirth. "No," he said, as if the idea had never occurred to him.

"Well," I said, drawing the word out into several syllables, "you're a good southern gentleman…so your car should have a good southern name."

"Annabelle," Jasper said promptly.

I broke out into laughter.

"What is so funny?" he said with mock indignation.

"This movie I used to watch as a kid about a cow or some such thing that wanted to be a reindeer was called _Annabelle's Wish_," I replied through my giggles.

He stuck his chiseled chin outward. "I like it, and I'm keeping it."

"Fine!" I exclaimed, too exultant to be brought down today. "Where are we going?"

"That depends," he replied with a twitch of his lips. "What are you prepared for?"

I grinned broadly. "I'm wearing a dress under my coat that could be formal or more casual. I have on a scarf, gloves, and beret, as you see. I have heels on, but have flats in my purse. I have thirty dollars, a cell phone, a house key, a camera, and a passport," I added.

He burst out in the rich, resonating bass tone that made me laugh with him. "You truly do think of everything. I thought Victoria would be nice, if you didn't object. Apparently, despite the chill, the late-blooming flowers in the Butchart Gardens are supposed to be beautiful."

I could scarcely contain my feelings. "I'd love to."

"I hope you don't mind a long drive; the ferry takes about an hour."

"Not at all," I quipped. I could think of more than a few questions I wanted answered.

"You're seventeen," Jasper said as he pulled into the line for the ferry.

"Last time I checked," I replied. "How old are you?" I said, feeling a little more daring. I'd entertained my theories mingled with Jacob's legend in the middle of the night, and thankfully, I'd always been very good at discerning lies.

"Eighteen," Jasper said promptly. A little too promptly, like it was practiced, innate.

"Hmm," I mused.

"What?" he asked as he paid the ferry attendant.

"I was wondering how old you _really_ were, since I know you're lying" I said innocently.

He groaned. "You're far too good at this…I'm twenty. In response to your next question, I've been twenty for a long time. One hundred and forty-six years, if you're counting."

I did the math in my head; that put him in the dead center of the Civil War. _Jasper Hale, you get more interesting all the time,_ I thought.

"You know," I said conversationally, "I was thinking about something last night." I wasn't worried about people overhearing, we were safe in the car in the belly of the ferry.

"What were you thinking about?" he said with equal camaraderie, though I could feel his wariness.

"I was thinking about you, actually. See, I've always known there was something different about you and your family, how there was something that tied you all together physically, even though none of you are blood related. Then I went to the beach at La Push and spent the day with an old friend. Your family was mentioned, and he said you didn't come there, but he made it sound like you were forbidden. I kind of made him tell me a local legend supposedly connected to your family."

"I see. And what did you discover?" His wariness created a tension thick enough to touch; he was no longer playing with my fingers.

"That Jacob was a good storyteller," I said sheepishly. "I didn't think too much of the story. I did think much of you. Your family is…superhumanly beautiful, especially you," I confessed, blushing now. "You're all very pale. You have the same amber eyes, fluid grace, and remarkable lack of appetite"—Jasper laughed harshly without humor—"and then there was the day that woman outside the coffee shop almost dropped her drink, and you caught her and the drink. Then again when I almost slipped on the ice, you caught me, even though you were way, way behind me. Oh, and let's not forget that you've been perpetually twenty years old since 1863. I know what you are."

His perfect eyebrow arched in a show of mock surprise.

"You're vampires." I felt relieved to get the word out. He didn't deny my claim. He just stared at me, not harshly. He was watching me, sizing me up and measuring my reaction.

"Are you going to run?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I searched his eyes, looking for any hint that would tip me toward fear. I saw only love and concern, and I smiled. "No. I'm not worried. You're vegetarians. And if you were going to come after me, I'd know it."

He chuckled quietly as he reappeared on the other side of the door, holding it open for me. I'd gotten one question answered and only had a million left. He knew it, too, as his fingers brushed across my cheekbone and took my hand again. "I know. I owe you a lot. But would you mind terribly to just enjoy this ferry ride and this day? I swear to you that you can ask me questions 'til you're blue in the face as soon as we get back to Forks—not that running out of breath or things to say seems to be one of your problems," he added wryly.

I stuck my tongue at him. "Have it your way," I conceded. "But rest assured that I have lots of questions. Don't worry, I'll answer yours, too," I grinned.

He laughed openly as we reached the railing looking out over the water. "What do you want to do today?"

I raised my eyebrow. "We're doing more than the gardens?"

"The garden was a suggestion, but really, this is your day."

I pulled my coat tighter around my frame and tugged my beret down lower over my ears. The wind was a little brisk. "I think the gardens sound lovely." I'd always wanted to see them, despite the chill. I pulled my camera out of my bag, popped off the lens cap, brought it to my eyes, and focused.

"What are you taking a picture of?" he asked.

"The horizon. See how the land blends in with the sky and water? I can barely tell where one starts and the other stops. Your eyes are probably much sharper than mine, but I like doing this—capturing things as I see them," I replied as I fiddled with the shutter speed and snapped the picture.

Jasper's roguish grin graced his features as he turned to look at me, leaning on the railing. "That thing is a dinosaur, Alice." He pointed to my camera.

"It's not _that_ old. It came out in 1976, and my mom never used it," I retorted.

"Who taught you to use it?"

"I taught myself, for the most part. It took a lot of trial-and-error, which is a pity, because it's not a cheap hobby. Hey, smile!" I sang as I brought the camera to my eye again and snapped. I could tell that picture was perfect; he'd turned to me at just the right moment with a charming grin on his face. I hadn't anticipated that finishing the half-roll of film would be a problem, but now I really couldn't wait to get the photos back.

We were quiet then, soaking up contentment with each others' presences and enjoying the fact that there was no one else around. He was intoxicating. My good fortune was intoxicating. This whole day was slightly unbelievable, like I might wake up and someone might jump out and say, "Just kidding!" Jasper and I leaned against the railing together, facing the slowly approaching port, not touching, just letting the electricity flow between us. I supposed it had something to do with the dramatic temperature differences of our bodies and wondered exactly how low his was—did thermometers measure that low?

"You're curious about something," he said, sensing it.

"I'm curious about a lot of things, but right now, I'm wondering about body temperature, specifically yours."

He pursed his lips. "I've never thought about it. I know that many touch-screens don't register my touch, since most are heat-dependent…if I had to estimate, I'd put it around seventy or eighty."

I nodded as we headed back to the car; we were near the port. "Oh, does anyone know you're with me?" he asked.

"My dad knows I wasn't planning on being home today, if that counts," I said. "Oh, and I have a good feeling your dad knows."

He looked at me in amazement and shook his head. "You really do trust me," he said in wonder. I had the strangest sensation, like I could feel his amazement in me and then feel confidence—his confidence because I was confident.

"I know you won't hurt me, and I'll explain later…but first, could you tell me how you're doing that?!" My voice rose a little bit.

He opened the door for me and swiftly entered his own. "Doing what?" his brow creased.

I sighed. Might as well start from the beginning, and depending on traffic, we could be there a while. "Whenever I'm around you…I feel, not all the time, but at least once while I'm around you, either a strange rush of lots of emotions bunched together, or emotions that are very, very strong and not entirely mine, like they come out of nowhere. The only conclusion I have is that it has something to do with you."

He sighed, too. "Here's the short version of this story. Carlisle believes that each of us carries on a trait from our human lives that is intensified when we become vampires. Some have defined special abilities, and others are left up to interpretation—Rosalie's stubbornness, Emmett's strength, Esme's endless capacity to love. You've noticed Edward watching you curiously at times. Edward can read minds, or more accurately, hear thoughts."

"He can _what?!"_ I shrieked. I'd never counted on that one. "How much do you know?"

"About what you think?" he smiled. "Don't worry. He hasn't told me a word. I asked him not to." I breathed a sigh of relief as he continued. "I'm a little different. When I was human—I'll treat you to the background story later—I was relatively charismatic. People liked me, and I could get them to listen to me and see my side of things. Now I know that it was probably more than charisma. I can sense the emotions of others around me and, in most cases, affect emotions."

"What do you mean, 'affect'? Like you can make people feel what you want?"

"Yes, sort of. I can't just toy with peoples' feelings. I have to genuinely want them to feel a certain way for it to happen. Usually. Well, actually, in every person, vampire, or other being I've ever met…except you." he turned to me with puzzlement and amusement in his eyes.

"Me? How so?" I felt my nose crinkle, partly because I knew I wouldn't get an answer right away; we'd arrived at the gardens. But I wanted this part of my day almost as much as I wanted my answers—no, as much as I wanted them, because it meant that I was with Jasper, and more importantly, that he was here voluntarily.

As he took my hand to help me out of the car, holding the door open, I leaned up to whisper in his ear: "For someone who doesn't consider himself strictly human, you sure do have a lot of human behaviors." He just grinned at me.

Despite the last few days of hard frost that had fallen over the Pacific Northwest, the gardens were brilliant. "You'll like this," Jasper said as he guided me to the Sunken Garden. My breath froze in my chest. The vivid colors of the foliage were so saturated that they almost hurt to look at. The chrysanthemums were in full bloom, along with the delicate dahlias, and even the roses still stubbornly clung to their crowned glory. The trees stretched like a copper canopy shot with gold over the walkway in some places. A slight breeze sent leaves raining down around us, and I laughed. I felt like spinning in circles. A man with a camera on a tripod saw the camera around my neck, assured me he knew how to work it, and asked if we wanted our pictures taken. I appreciated the impromptu photographer for taking candids.

The roses in the Rose Garden held on valiantly, reaching ever upward toward the sky despite the impending winter. I wanted to hold them in my hand; they were so fragile and delicate, yet hardy in the face of challenge. Above all else, they had a tender grace. This would be one of the times that my mother would tell me I read too many broody romances; I admired the flowers.

I had to grin at the Sturgeon Fountain. It was a clever design, and I could find appreciation for the monstrous, weird fish. The entire complex was breathtaking; I marveled at how many different species of plant could grow in one place. We were gone too soon—it started to rain. Jasper took my hand and I giggled as we ran to the car. He pulled me the whole way, and I knew that getting out of the rain was for my benefit rather than his.

"Are you terribly hungry?" he asked me.

"Not right now," I answered, "but I might be when we get back to Forks. In that case, I'll just get something at my house. I'm sure Dad attempted to make a cake," I grimaced.

He chuckled. "Do you feel up to meeting my family?" He looked like he'd blush—if he could. "They, uh…they sort of hoped you'd come. They cooked for you."

I raised an eyebrow as I tried to conceal my amusement. "Vampires cook?"

He shrugged casually, like this was obvious. "What else is there to do?"

I laughed, tapping my toes to the beat of the music falling quietly out of the speakers. Somehow, I wasn't surprised that Jasper liked The Avett Brothers. "Anyway, yes, I'll come for dinner. I'll call my dad. How could I refuse when people who don't even eat are going to go to the trouble to cook for me?"

I dialed Dad's number. "Dad? It's Alice. I've been spending the day with a friend, and I've been invited to dinner."

"About time you called," he grumbled. "But at least I knew you weren't going to be home. Let's hear the 'who' and the 'where'."

"Jasper Hale, and the Butchart Gardens."

There was a very long silence. "Um, Alice, next time you plan on leaving the continental U.S., a phone call would be _super_." I felt guilty. He was trying not to growl at me. "But it is your birthday after all," he sighed. "Are the Cullens expecting you?"

"Oh, yes," I said innocently. "They've made something special for me."

"Well. Don't be out too late, and if you don't mind, I'd like to meet Jasper." I suppressed a groan as I heard the fiendish excitement in his voice.

As soon as we hung up, I turned to Jasper. "Consider yourself officially forewarned: my dad would like to meet you after dinner, and he is going to grill you, police chief style."

Jasper gave a roll of laughter. "I'll be on my best behavior—but I'm charismatic, after all."

"Oh, yeah, about that…what were you saying about me?" I was glad to unravel another mystery.

He sighed. "I told you I can sense emotions and, if I really want someone to feel a certain way, then he or she will. But one of the reasons that I ran from you when I met you and kept my distance for so long was because your emotions were so…potent. I'd never been around anyone, vampire or otherwise, with emotions as strong as yours. I was completely overwhelmed. And then, just as an experiment…there was one day that you were so sad—no, not sad…you were so many different things at once. You were angry, inconsolable, hopeful—that was another reason I left; I had to learn how to deal with you! You feel so many things at once that I wonder how you don't explode, especially since you seem to feel them all equally. But there was this one day that you were so sad…I wanted more than anything to make you feel better, but you stopped me where I stood. I tried everything. Your emotions didn't change at all."

"So…let me get this straight. I screw with your ability to screw with me?" I smiled wryly, using Jacob's term.

He smiled somewhat painfully. "At least part of the time. I think you have to be unsure of yourself or vulnerable or focused on just one feeling for my ability to work. Oh, and the weird emotions you couldn't name? Well, I should correct myself—my ability works on you, sort of. But instead of feeling what I want you to feel, you feel what _I _feel. I'm much more difficult at keeping in my own emotions around you. I guess it feels weird and indescribable because it's your emotions mixed with mine—too much to handle at once," he chuckled.

I thought about that for a bit while the Avetts' "November Blue" seeped through the speakers. Finally, I said, "You know, there is a very clear benefit to all of this."

"What's that?" he asked.

I couldn't resist cracking a grin. "This means that I know that everything I feel will be real—not that I thought you would trick me into having feelings for you—and it'll be even better because you'll feel that way, too, so I'll feel twice as much."

He pursed his lips in thought. "Why were you so sad that day?"

I sighed. I knew which day he was referring to. I nestled into my coat, knowing that no evasive procedures would work; the drab interior of the ferry forced me to look into his eyes, forcing me to see his reaction. I took a deep breath. "I left Mississippi to get away from my mother. I told you about her ideal visions for her daughters that involved a lot of charity functions and society events. I didn't like it, but that's not why I left. Technically, it was on the doctor's orders. My mother and I have never seen eye-to-eye on anything. We're as opposite as two people can be while still being related. Despite the fact that my mother basically had me raise myself, I still craved for her approval…for anyone's approval. I think that it makes her feel better to bring others down, and since Cynthia didn't do pageants, it was me she picked on. And it was always about my weight or my personality quirks, but the weight was what got to me.

"I didn't start out with the intention of losing weight. I wanted to stay the exact weight I was. I reasoned with myself that if I didn't grow, I wouldn't have to buy new clothes. But there was no way my body could handle the restrictions I put on myself without shedding weight. At first I was scared. But with each pound I lost, I loved myself a little more, and my mom got upset just a little bit less. I think what really did me in was the exercise. I stopped going out, I stopped reading, stopped working on photography and piano and spent all my time running or recovering from the ways my body was betraying me.

"Eventually, I got too tired and worn out. I started passing out. There are huge chunks of time that I don't remember. Of course, everyone knew about it, but the girls at my school were so typical and so self-centered that they didn't see a problem with it because they had their dirty little secrets, too. The last pageant I participated in before I moved was the Miss Teen Mississippi pageant. I rebelled against my mother in the only way I knew how. I ate breakfast that morning, wore a different dress than the one she wanted—which didn't matter, since the one she wanted was strapless and literally fell off of me—and played the most dramatic, angriest piece of piano music I could think of for the talent portion. I didn't win. My mom gave me a tongue-lashing on the way home, but I tuned her out after a while. I remember that I leaned my head against the window and intended to take a nap for the twenty or so minutes left in the drive. I woke up several days later in the hospital."

I paused to clear my throat. This was becoming increasingly difficult. "My dad came to see me. The doctor knew what was up. My choices were to move here with my dad and escape scrutiny, or stay with my mom and repeat the cycle after a short time of pretending to recover. It wasn't a hard choice to make.

"But the reason I was so sad that day is because I'd had a very angry phone conversation with my mother the night before, and the next morning she'd left me a voice message basically disowning me. She didn't say anything like 'Don't come back'—not that I would—but she said—well, I'm summarizing—but she said, 'you're too strange to be related to me, you have too much of your father in you, don't call us, we'll call you.'"

More throat clearing. Aversion of eyes. I didn't want to see his pain. I didn't want my pain to become his pain, our mixed emotions traversing the apparent empathy link between us. I looked down. "I wish I didn't care." Very slowly and hesitantly he put his arms around me, not holding me close, but giving me comfort nonetheless. I focused on my anger, trying hard to make it the only emotion in my heart so that Jasper could soothe it. It worked. Gradually I felt my anger numb and turn to a faint happiness.

He smoothed his thumb over my cheekbone and smiled at me. "I'm awfully glad you're here."

I had to laugh; it was such an innocent and true statement. "I am, too."

"I'm sorry I couldn't give you more comfort—holding you and all that. Another reason I had to leave for a while…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" I said slowly.

I could see vulnerability in his eyes. "It's been said by some—by those who've experienced it—that for each vampire, there is a perfect human 'match'. By 'match', I don't mean the concept of soulmates, although sometimes that is the case—if we don't kill our matches. It's been said that there is one human for each of us whose blood"—he winced—"is nearly irresistible. The scent is far stronger, sweeter, more potent and mouthwatering. I've only known two other people who've managed not to…" he discreetly left out the word 'kill'. "Well, I guess I know three now, counting myself. I couldn't stand being near you because the very last thing I wanted to do was hurt you. I…might have…hid in my house for a few days," he said sheepishly.

I twisted my lips thoughtfully. I wasn't terribly surprised by his news, and it did explain his strange reaction toward me. "Well, I'm pretty glad that you didn't lose self-control, but like I said, I trust you. It's not a stupid sort of trust. I'm an instinctive and fairly intuitive person, so if you were sketchy, I'd know." I said.

Again, I felt his amazement in me. He just shook his head and focused on the road as we left the ferry. The trip from Port Angeles would be much shorter; Jasper seemed to have an affinity for driving at the speed of light. He caught me eyeing the speedometer and said, "Does my driving worry you?"

"Nah, I always wanted to be a racecar driver when I grew up," I joked. We enjoyed each others' company quietly; I didn't push any more of my questions.

"Oh, are you satisfied?" he said, as if he was reading my mind.

I laughed. "Not hardly. But I have to take things in small doses. Hey," I remarked, "your accent is stronger when you're just around me."

He smiled wryly. "A southern accent is hardly inconspicuous. I haven't _lived_ in Texas for the last two hundred years straight, you know."

He had a good point. The rain tapped down the windows, and I played the old game with myself of unfocusing my eyes as I watched the rain blur like oil on the panes, making my own pictures. My cell phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I had several voicemails, but I didn't feel like answering them. We passed the time in quiet amazement at the other's presence.


	9. Secrets

Secrets

We made excellent time to his house. He pulled off one narrow road and onto another, which turned out to be a three-mile drive to the Cullen house. My jaw popped open a little when I saw it. The house, situated on a spacious lawn and surrounded by forest, was a beautifully restored white Victorian/Queen Anne that had been modernly retrofitted, so it was a unique yet perfect mix of past and present. "Esme likes to remodel," Jasper said in response. "Are you nervous?" his gaze held mine.

"Only that they won't like me, but on the other hand, I'm not going to go out of my way to make sure that they like me. I have a pretty good feeling about this," I said, ruffling my rapidly waving hair with my hand; the rain and subsequent car heat made for a disaster. A few black strands clung to my hand, and I shook them off impatiently. Having thick hair could be a curse. I opened the door myself. "Well, let's go!" I said. I actually _was_ excited. I wanted to meet the enigmatic Cullens, and Bella still made appearances in my dreams. I was ready to bring that vision a step closer to reality. "After all, I'm hungry, and it would look good for me to eat in front of your dad," I added.

Jasper followed me, taking my hand. "You worry him, you know," he said.

I frowned. "I do? I don't mean to. I like him.

"Oh, he likes you, too, which is why you worry him, I think. Any…setbacks that you could have would upset him far, far more than if it were anyone else."

"Well, he's very supportive, and I like him. I seem to do better if someone cares that I get better."

"I care," he said lightly.

"I know," I said just as lightly. "Hey, I know you care, but can you do me a favor? Don't make anyone feel warm and fuzzy about me unless they actually _do _like me," I joked.

"Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'," he said as he pushed on the heavy oak door. It glided seamlessly back on its hinges to reveal a spacious entryway and front room, decorated in a bizarrely beautiful mix of postmodern furniture and classic adornments. The walls were a composition of old wainscoting and molding with glass windows that nearly consumed the back wall. Edward sat at the piano, his hands flowing effortlessly over the keys in a song that reminded me of rain and trees. I stood transfixed as Jasper gently plucked my beret off my head and slid my gray peacoat from my arms. I was pleased to note that the house was warm.

He finished, and I approached the piano as he rose, running my finger appreciatively over the glossy keys. "It's nice to meet you and not just your thoughts—I know you play, by the way, and I'm sure Jasper will expect a concert—or are you going to yell at us again?" he joked.

"I won't yell because your brother is on his best behavior and is treating me as a lady should be treated," I quipped. "You play wonderfully, thought-stalker," I added with a grin.

"Thanks, psychic freak," he grinned back. I smacked my forehead only because I knew smacking his would probably break my hand. I hadn't told Jasper about my dreams—not that I was going to lie about them, but I didn't want to tell him that I saw myself as one of them. Not yet. I glanced at Jasper out of the corner of my eye. His eyes asked for answers, but they'd have to wait. Bella appeared next to Edward out of thin air, smiling so warmly that my heart melted. Edward looked shrewdly from me to her several times, and I knew he'd seen what I'd seen in my visions about her being more of a sister than my biological one.

She reached for my hand, not shaking it, just grasping it in both of hers. "Hi, Alice," she said shyly, looking down slightly. "I'm so glad you came. And your dress is adorable." Good Lord, I swore the girl would blush if she could.

Edward laughed. "You have no idea," he answered my thoughts.

I groaned. "That's going to get quite old very quickly."

Bella's perfect brow creased, displacing her mahogany sideswept bangs. "What question did I miss?"

"Alice, who, as we know, is not shy in the slightest, was thinking about how shy you are, love, and said to herself that she thought you'd blush if you could," he said, draping an arm around her waist.

She shrugged sheepishly. "It's true. It was my defining characteristic as a human."

"Second only to your clumsiness," a voice boomed from the entryway. Emmett waved to me enthusiastically and rolled his eyes skyward as a hiss echoed down the stairs. "Sorry, I'll be back. Maybe." He left as quickly as he'd come in.

Before I had a chance to ask for an explanation, everyone seemed to disperse silently. "They don't want to make you nervous," Jasper whispered. I could hear the gentle clicking of heels on the honey-colored floor, and my heart stopped as I took in the woman accompanying Dr. Cullen into the room. Her caramel hair hung in waves like a waterfall around her heart-shaped face. Her dark-gold eyes were wide, sweet, and honest. She had Clara Bow's lips and Ava Gardner's grace. Her cute, eyelet-trimmed apron protected her ruffled emerald dress. She was slight, but soft somehow, and even without Jasper's ability, I could feel the love radiating off of her. I knew she was Esme. I didn't know until that very moment that Esme and my hypothetical, psychic-vision 'mother' were one in the same. I felt Jasper gently prodding through my emotions, trying to figure out my reaction. Esme continued to approach slowly, holding hands with Dr. Cullen.

"So, Dr. Cullen, I imagine you already knew the answer to the question of what I was doing for my birthday," I said to him lightly. Here, outside of the harsh, artificial hospital lighting, I was struck by his outrageous perfection. Despite whatever his vampire age was, I knew that physically, he was quite young.

"Yes, but I thought I'd ask chiefly as a courtesy and secondly to keep up the surprise," he replied with a smile. "You're very welcome; please call me Carlisle."

Esme reached for me, and to my surprise and great delight, she hugged me gently. "I am so very happy that you're here. It's nice to know you," she half-whispered. I couldn't resist sparkling a little bit. This was going so much better than I had ever expected. "I do hope you're hungry, Alice," she said more conversationally as she led me into the kitchen. It was as spacious as the front room; the back wall of glass showed the rushing river close outside with some large, ancient trees stretching right by the windows and door to the patio. "Everyone chipped in a little. We wanted to make your birthday special."

I was deeply touched. "You don't even really know me; why all the trouble?"

She shrugged dismissively as if the answer was obvious. "Carlisle and Jasper like you, which is plenty good enough for me," she said.

Jasper scowled. "You're not really going to give Rosalie any credit, are you, Esme?"

"She set the table," Esme said a little reprovingly and defensively. I couldn't help but chuckle—and then I saw the feast laid out on the small table. There was a raspberry cheesecake made by Jasper, salmon pesto that Carlisle made, an ornate salad from Esme, and hot mint tea that Emmett had poured, along with hot rolls wrapped in a towel in a basket. "We didn't want to intimidate you with the dining room," Esme added as I gawked. "It's so big for just the two of you."

It was the strangest assortment of food I'd ever seen, but also the most delicious. I was very hungry, but I couldn't resist croaking out, "Wow, thank you, this is lovely, but, um…I only have one stomach, not _four."_

Carlisle tried to look severe. "It will no doubt be very good for you. You'll have to find some way to fit it in; what would we do with leftovers?"

"Leave the poor girl alone," Esme chided gently. "She may eat as much or as little as she wants—but you _will_ tell me what you think, even if you hate it, won't you?" she looked at me anxiously.

I had no idea how I'd possibly find a way to say anything less than perfectly complimentary to her, but I assured her I'd try. They slipped out discreetly as Jasper pulled my seat out for me. "So, are you going to watch me eat?" I giggled, but I couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious.

"No, I'm going to tell you a story," he said. "It's not an easy one for me to tell, but I want you to know. You know that I can affect others' emotions, but I wonder—do you know how their emotions affect me? If I'm deeply attuned to a specific person's emotions, I feel them as strongly as if they were my own. Each of my family was changed by Carlisle, the original Cullen. Edward was first, from Chicago; his mother demanded Carlisle save Edward in the 1918 flu pandemic. Next came Esme, who fell off a cliff; he'd treated her ten years before when she broke her leg after falling out of a tree. He remembered her as being pure of heart and changed her. They fell in love, of course. Rosalie was one of the rare wealthy families left in Rochester in 1933, and she was attacked by her would-be husband. Carlisle hoped she would become for Edward what Esme was for him. Rosalie found Emmett while hunting in Appalachia two years later, near Gatlinburg, Tennessee. He'd been attacked by a bear, and she carried him a few hundred miles to Carlisle, afraid she'd be unable to make the change herself.

"Bella was a first year student at Kent State in 1970, where Carlisle was in residency. Edward took night classes there. She'd attracted Edward's attention because she is the only being whose mind can't read, but he never spoke to her. We all knew his fascination with her, of course, but out of safety, he avoided her. Not only was Bella unfailingly clumsy as a human, but she also was a magnet for trouble. She wasn't involved in the protests; she was someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. The National Guard got her at close range in the back and shattered her spine; she would have been permanently paralyzed if she'd lived. Carlisle recognized her immediately and knew the kind of life she would have if she 'healed.'"

"And you? Oh, and do you have to be dying to become a vampire?" I asked, taking another bite of my salad, which was romaine lettuce, spinach, candied walnuts, dried cranberries, raspberry dressing, and feta—in other words, delicious.

His face grew hard. "My story is something else entirely, and no, that's just Carlisle. I was born Jasper Whitlock. In the fall of 1861, I was seventeen years old, almost eighteen. I joined the Confederate army and told the recruiters I was twenty. Due to my charisma and the fact that I loved to fight—I thought it was God's mission on earth for me to be a soldier—I rose quickly through the ranks. By the end of 1862 I was the youngest major in Texas's history, even with my false age, and I'd received a commission for lieutenant colonel. But we got word of an impending attack by the Yankees on Galveston set for New Year's Day, 1863, and I was in charge of conveying citizens out of the city.

"I remember the day well. It was during the time when you're not real sure when morning starts and evening ends, and it was unseasonably cold that night. We stopped for the night on the road to Houston, and once I made sure everyone was settled, I rode back on our path a little ways to make sure there weren't any stragglers. I saw three girls approaching me. They glowed like ghosts and were dressed all in thin white dresses. They should have been freezing, and they looked no bigger than children, but they were strong. The smallest one, Maria, was the leader. She demanded my name and rank, and her black eyes lit up when I told her." He shuddered slightly as he remembered, but he gestured at me to keep eating; I'd set down my fork, transfixed by his story.

"She had eyes like the devil, black and cold," he continued. "She said to the others, 'I have a good feeling about him, we need officers.' I didn't think it was possible, but just like that the other two girls ran off so fast I thought they'd fly. Maria gently pulled on my uniform sleeve, forcing me to duck a little, and she brought her lips to my throat. I thought she meant to kiss me," he said as he rubbed his fingers over the scar that I couldn't see. "I woke up several days later."

"Well, what happened?" I asked impatiently when he broke off.

He grinned rakishly, showing his one-sided dimples. "Dunno, darlin', are you going to eat?" I feverishly stuffed a huge bite of roll in my mouth. He chuckled his glorious, river-meets-cellos chuckle and continued. "Carlisle is unfailingly diplomatic. He loves humans and respects all life, and has raised his 'children' to be vegetarian from the start. There have been slip-ups, but our family is very rare. As you might well imagine, most vampires prefer your sort. I soon found out exactly why Maria wanted soldiers. There were two wars fought during the War of Northern Aggression, one in the light and one in the shadows." At that I burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"I have _never _heard _anyone _refer to it as the War of Northern Aggression except the most crusty of southerners," I giggled.

"You are ruining my story," he glared.

"Do go on," I said, taking a sip of my drink primly.

He cleared his throat grandly. "Imagine a population map colored with dots; the thicker the layer of dots, the more people there are. A vampire named Benito quickly figured out that the more people there were in one city, the more often he could glut himself without being noticed. Other vampires caught on to the idea, and the South, always a hotbed of activity, was the stage for the wars that fought for control of the sea of humans. Maria sought to build an army primarily of soldiers to fight for control of Monterrey, down in Mexico. I became her second in command. She'd search for soldiers or particularly able-bodied people with promising abilities, I'd train them…and dispose of them when they no longer became useful." I'm sure my face was stricken; his voice was so hard. He was too caught up in his story to notice, and it was fascinating. I felt like a movie spectator as I took a hearty bite of salmon pesto.

"Newborn vampires are often completely out of control; not much training was required. They fought like children, but I taught them what I knew, and we won. Their strength begins to wane after the first year, and Maria couldn't stand weakness. I used my ability to make the newborns fight, and they thrived off it. Hate was my constant companion, but it was of no help to me every time I had to hunt. I could feel the emotions of the humans I killed, and it didn't matter that I tried to seek out the malicious. I gradually became depressed. One day Maria ordered me to kill Peter, the closest thing I had to a friend, but I couldn't do it. He had bonded with another, Charlotte, and they escaped together. I couldn't keep up this lifestyle, so I left without a backward glance in 1948. Maria was—and still is—furious, but most relationships that vampires form in such situations are easily broken.

"I wandered northward until I came to Calgary, where Peter and Charlotte were living. I was out on the street during the day—I can't go out during the day unless it's storming, but not for the reason you might think—and in this case, snow clouds were overhead. I was walking by a pond where a young girl had been ice skating, but she lay on the ice screaming. She'd caught the tip of her skate in a rut and broken her ankle. The break was clean; there was no blood, but she couldn't walk. I carried her to the nearest hospital, where Carlisle was working at the time. My eyes were dark enough that humans wouldn't pay any attention, but Carlisle knew what to look for, and we talked privately after he treated the girl. I was intrigued by the lifestyle he and his family chose to live, but not enough to join on my own. I was depressed, sure, but I'd had open hunting season for almost a century. I couldn't imagine that kind of constraint, but I had to wrap my mind around it, because I found myself joining his family. I think I felt what others must feel when I manipulate their emotions: I felt a compulsion that wasn't mine. I felt like I _had_ to join his family, like it was vital and something very important would happen if I did.

"This lifestyle is still difficult for me, though I've been practicing for a shorter period of time than the others, and they never had to wean themselves off a steady diet of human blood. I didn't feel hope, per se, when I talked with Carlisle. I felt a need and a thirst nearly as powerful as the one we have for blood. It is entirely possible to become entirely resistant to human blood; Carlisle, Edward, and Bella have all managed this. Bella and Esme have never killed a human." His voice became very quiet as his eyes focused on the gentle mist outside. "I've made mistakes; my previous lifestyle is difficult to ignore or forget about. But the pain I caused others—I refuse to make someone feel warm and fuzzy about being killed—and the shame I felt afterwards weren't worth it. And then there was you," he said, his voice growing stronger, more confident, as he turned to me.

"I hid like a child in the closet because I wanted very much to kill you. I apologize if I'm frightening you; the military strategist in me wants to look at things objectively. But at the same time, I'd never felt a greater repulsion to killing someone. You smelled mouthwatering, but I had this…inherent feeling that if I touched you in any way that wasn't about kindness, if I harmed one hair on your pretty little head, that I would destroy one of the purest and best things in existence."

I stared at him. A wave of awe loomed over my head. "You know," he said conversationally, "my hands have always been steady in the face of war. Nothing bothers me. Nothing scares me. But you, you made my hands shake. You terrified me," he laughed.

The wave of awe broke and crashed down over me as I continued to stare at him. I think I'd been rendered speechless—for once. I wasn't really sure what to say in response to the telling of his past, and I was even more astonished by his honest confession and how he connected it all together. Taking advantage of my speechless state, he took my hand. "Come here," he said, leading me away from the table, "I want to show you something."

He brought me into a small sitting room and stood next to a floor lamp done in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. He rolled up the arm of his black turtleneck as high as he could and thrust his arm under the lampshade. I wondered what he was doing as he beckoned me closer with the opposite hand. He rotated his arm slowly back and forth until he got the right angle. I could see raised shadows on his arm crisscrossing in a feathery pattern, and I tried to make sense of what I was seeing. His skin was smooth to the touch, though, like the feathers were superimposed or ingrained on the underside of his skin. Curiously, I stretched my finger out to graze one very jagged feather on his upper arm that looked the most tangible. It was raised, I could feel; it was rendered invisible because it blended in with the milky translucence of his skin. My fingers found tiny ridges not unlike teeth marks. "Is this…a scar?" I questioned.

He nodded. "I have lots of scars everywhere. To human eyes, they blend in with the rest of me. Some of them might be visible"—he pulled his arm out of the light, and I could still see the scar slightly—"our venom is the only thing that leaves a scar." He sighed. "I hate my past. The scars will never go away. I can never forget it." The sadness in his eyes was endless. I leaned forward on the balls of my feet and brought my lips to the ravaged line. His skin was cold. The sadness left his eyes as he grinned at me piratically. "Aren't you going to try your cake? I made it just for you," he said winningly.

I groaned. I felt like I couldn't possibly eat another bite, but I found a way. The cake was delicious, of course. Later, as he drove me to my house, he summarized everyone's feelings. "Don't worry; Esme _adores_ you. She thinks you're just the cutest thing; she loved your dress—so do I, actually—and can't wait to know you for you. Carlisle is so pleased with you that he'll be insufferable for a while. He's itching for the next two weeks to pass quickly so he can weigh you again. Don't be offended if he calls you in early, because he also wants to make sure your mind doesn't relapse. Bella likes you very much, even if she is shy. She feels that the two of you will be almost sisters. Emmett looks forward to making fun of you. It's nothing personal; he does it to everyone. Edward is very intrigued by you, and I'm very intrigued by something he said about you," he looked at me meaningfully. Crap. I smoothed the skirt of my mauve dress with black lace details.

"And Rosalie?" I hedged, trying to avoid the inevitable.

He winced. "Well, she…erm…well…"

"She hates me," I concluded for him.

"Nah, Alice, I wouldn't say that…"

"I would."

"Rosalie is the one who most resents being a vampire, but she's very loyal to us. She views you as an intrusion to the private world she thinks she created, and she's threatened by you."

My eyebrows shot up incredulously. "She's jealous of _me? Why?"_ my voice cracked.

"You're beautiful," he said nonchalantly. "And she's very petty. She's afraid of anyone that either might threaten to expose the family or attract Emmett's attention, even though Emmett has a one-track mind that won't ever stray from her."

"Sorry, wait, you lost me at the first sentence. She's threatened…by my _appearance?! _Is she _blind_?" my voice climbed another notch.

He sighed. "When Edward didn't take to Rosalie like Carlisle hoped, her self-esteem took a hit."

"Most girls' self-esteem take hits when she walks into the room," I interrupted impatiently.

"I know, and so does she," he said calmly. "Rosalie never loved Edward, but she's not used to not being adored. I think she's a little insulted that now both of her brothers have been taken with humans, who she sees as below her."

I was the antithesis of Rosalie; I wasn't used to being adored. "That makes slightly more sense," I allowed, "though I'm waiting for the 'goodhearted girl' part that you said she had."

"I did mention she doesn't let it show much."

We pulled up in front of my house; the cruiser was there. "Crap!" I exclaimed loudly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"My car! How am I going to explain that my car is still in Port Angeles?"

He grinned lazily. "It's not."

"What do you mean, it's not?" I asked suspiciously.

"Pulled the key out of your pocket when I took off your coat and gave it to Edward. He's the fastest runner. He should be bringing it back any second," he drawled.

I stared at him in astonishment, and then I laughed. "So you're a pickpocket, too? Okay, any other talents that I don't know about?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out…but speaking of talents, what was that Edward said about you being psychic?"

I looked at him levelly and concentrated on breathing normally. "I have had dreams for years that are very specific. I see things, people, myself, and others, events that happen in my life. Always. Sometimes I'll have dreams for months that are vague, but as the event grows closer, the dreams become more vivid. They are subjective: once I dreamed a boy was going to ask me out, but the dreams were vague, and abruptly they went away; he asked out someone else. But I do see things. I saw Bella and Esme. I saw you."

"For how long?" he croaked.

"Months…I'm honestly not sure how many. More than three. Less than twelve."

"What did you see?"

"I saw that you and I were together. You…loved me. Loved me powerfully enough that I could feel it." I blushed. "I saw…" I hesitated. "I saw myself with golden eyes, too."

I felt his edginess through our weird empathy link. He was quiet; I was afraid I'd upset him. "No, you haven't upset me," he replied slowly, "but there is much about being a vampire that you don't know." Edward came around the corner with my car then, parking it in my usual spot.

I swung myself out of the car then, grabbing my purse and miraculously pristine poppy and rolling my eyes with a smile as Edward tossed the keys to me. "Thanks for helping me avoid suspicion," I said.

"Anytime," he said to me. "Have fun with the cop," he added to Jasper, snickering. In a flash, he was gone.

"Are you ready for this?" I asked Jasper.

He laughed. "I was born ready."

I rolled my eyes again at his cockiness, but secretly, my cup of happiness was brimming over. I took my hand in his.

"You know," he said, "when you took my hand today, I felt hope for the first time in over a century."

I laughed for the millionth time tonight. My face hurt from smiling. I felt our combined joy and confidence. My dad was going to love Jasper, I decided as I popped my key into the lock. Or, at least, I really hoped he would. We found instantly that we wouldn't know the answer today. Dad was stretched out on the recliner snoring like a train. I could have ripped a chainsaw without waking him, so the silent laugher that shook my body had no effect on him. I tried unsuccessfully to shake him awake and figured I'd just leave him. This wasn't the first or last night he'd spend in a recliner. Still laughing as he helped me out of my coat, Jasper tried to find words he wanted to say. He tried several times, but nothing came out. That was okay; I knew what he was feeling. He gave up and simply said "I'll see you soon" with another roguish smile. He was out of sight before I had time to process his words fully. I sighed, twirled the poppy in my hand, and trudged up the stairs, reluctant for the day to end but equally excited for the next one.


	10. Commitment

Commitment

I bustled around in the bathroom and came back to my room when a strange sensation came over me like an egg cracked on my head. I felt amusement—not mine—and the intuitive feeling that someone was watching me in a non-creepy way—mine. I crept over to the window and spread the curtains, gently raising the window a little bit. "Jasper?" I stage-whispered.

"Yes?" an amused voice stage-whispered behind me.

"Oh!" I shrieked, jumping and rounding to find him stretched out on my bed, showing his dimples in a lazy grin. "You scared me!" I exclaimed, shock flooding my system.

"Sorry, darlin'," he drawled, still smiling at me languidly. "Told you I'd see you soon, didn't I? After all, you forgot something."

I rolled my eyes as I put my shoes in the closet. "I thought you meant, like, tomorrow." What had I forgotten? I couldn't think of anything.

He sat up. "I can leave if you want." He gave a meaningful glance over to the window where I'd been moments before. I followed his gaze to see the old green bottle that had contained my single poppy now holding a small bouquet of them.

I went over to the bed and stretched out next to him, staring at him. "How did you _do_ that?"

He flashed a grin. "It's a secret."

I rolled my eyes again. "Fine, keep your secrets. You don't have to go…maybe I want you to stay. But I might be really boring," I warned.

"Why's that?"

"I might sleep. A lot." I really didn't want to, and I knew he could feel my reluctance, but exhaustion was rolling through my body.

He chuckled. "Go right on ahead. It's your birthday; you can do what you want to." In a flash he threw the covers over me and appeared on the other side, sitting on the edge of the bed. He sighed.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I was just thinking…" I felt flooded with nerves—his nerves.

"Why are you nervous, Jasper?" I asked, scooting closer to him.

He stared out the window through the curtains. "I don't trust myself around you," he confessed. "For someone who should understand emotions better than anyone else on the planet, you make me feel like a teenage boy."

I giggled. "You almost are," I pointed out.

He pushed me playfully and started humming lowly. I didn't recognize the tune, but it was lulling me closer to sleep against my will and to my extreme annoyance. I didn't want to sleep. I didn't want to deal with human weaknesses, especially since he didn't look remotely tired. I wanted to stay awake and talk, but I slipped under.

I woke up bright and early on Sunday morning. Dad stomped up the stairs with the occasional moan and cracked my door open. I looked around my room quickly to notice Jasper was gone. I thought I'd dreamed that he was here, and then I noticed I was still wearing my dress. Dad was clutching his back. "I see you made it in okay," he grumbled. "Hurt my back sleeping on the recliner. Made you a cake. Don't know if it was any good. Didn't know what to get you so I put some money in your bank account. That boy better not have spent the night here."

"You are so grouchy. Are you hungry?" I half-realized that I was doing what my mother always did—whenever there was some sort of family crisis or someone was in a bad mood, she automatically tried to feed them. "I came in around ten; I was going to introduce you to Jasper, but you were already asleep. You wouldn't budge. The Cullens cooked me a feast. It was great. Actually, my whole day was great—thanks for asking!" I couldn't resist teasing.

He rolled his eyes as he smiled slightly. "Really, honey, I'm glad your birthday was good. I'm getting in the shower. Please try the cake I made. Please lie to me if it's not very good. And bring that boy by so I can meet him, and that's an order." I threw my pillow at the door he closed behind him and rubbed my eyes. _Bring that boy by._ I guessed I had to make up for the totalitarian stance he hadn't taken in my life up to this point. I wasn't too worried for Jasper, though. He could hold his own; he was strong. Born to fight, like he said. I swung myself out of bed, slid my plastic-rimmed glasses on my face, and yanked on some pajamas. I hadn't cut it since the first day; it was growing back out again. I couldn't decide what to do with it; for the short term, I crammed it into a bun on the back of my head and cranked on the gas range to heat water for tea. I noticed with relief that Dad had thought to cover the cake, although even after studying it closely, I had no clue as to what sort it was. It looked like craters. I poked it with a fork cautiously and was about to take a bite when the doorbell rang and kettle whistled simultaneously. I turned the range off and went to answer the front door, thinking how strange it was that someone had come to that one. Everyone who frequented our house came through the kitchen door. I almost dropped the coffee mug that I forgot was still dangling from my fingers when I saw Jasper through the glass of the front door. Great, my boyfriend…friendboy…_something_ was at my house, and I was wearing pajamas. I cracked the door open and attempted to duck behind it. "I'm wearing pajamas; please go away," I said.

He burst into laughter. "I see that. I didn't know you have glasses. May I come in anyway?"

I groaned and pulled the door back. "Well, as Marilyn Monroe always said, 'If you can't handle me at my worst, you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best,' and yes, I'm practically blind without some sort of correction."

He scrutinized my appearance—no, he looked me up and down. If it had been anyone else, I would have smacked the hell out of him. But coming from him, it was flattering. "If this is your worst…" he caught himself, plucking my glasses off my face and looking through them himself. His eyes crossed immediately. "You really weren't kidding. Esme commanded me to bring you breakfast. And leftovers," he added apologetically.

I stared at the casserole dish in his arms. "Is that an omelet?"

"Yep."

"That omelet would feed a family of four. Good thing my dad eats a lot; maybe I'll have him take some to the Blacks'." I took the casserole from his arms and noticed the bag by his feet; he carried it in for me. "I never expected vampires to cook…"

He smiled, showing his dimples. "Esme likes to cook. She also likes you, so the two go hand in hand. I hope you don't think she's overbearing. She's very motherly."

I poured the hot water over my teabag and arranged omelet and cake on my plate while he plopped himself down at the kitchen table. "Nah, on her, it works. I know she can't possibly be that old, but she feels much older."

Jasper eyed my cake. "What _is_ that?"

I poked it again and giggled. "Theoretically, it's cake. My dad made it. We'll see how it goes." I sawed a bite off with the edge of my fork and popped it into my mouth. I chewed slowly. It was too spongy. Like rubber-tire spongy. I still couldn't tell the flavor, so I swallowed painfully and took another bite. A cloud of flour erupted in my mouth, and I barely choked it down. Jasper was trying very hard not to laugh. "This is _terrible,"_ I laughed as I sloshed tea down my throat. "I think he used baking soda for baking powder, and he definitely didn't stir the batter…but you know what? He tried," I smiled, though I couldn't resist a shudder as I scraped the rest of the cake into the trash. "I'd take the rest out for the birds, but I don't think even they would eat it."

I sat back down and took a hearty bite of omelet. It was delicious—all egg whites, nice and fluffy, just the right amount of cheese, with added green peppers and mushrooms. I was trying not to think about the fact that someone's mother got up and made me an omelet when she herself never ate. Not only had she made me an omelet, but it was also damn good. It would make me emotional to think about. Instead I said, "Would you mind to meet my dad today? He's in the shower right now. Since you're here, you can just meet him before he goes to work. I'm hoping he won't mind the surprise, but it's best to get him while I know he's in a good mood."

He didn't have time to respond; Dad's heavy booted footsteps stomped down the stairs, and Jasper rose from the table as Dad came in. He looked from the massive collection of food on the counter to the tea kettle—whistling again—to me in my pajamas to Jasper, who, of course, was nicely dressed. "Uh…hi," Dad said lamely.

"Hello, Chief Brandon, it's nice to meet you. I'm Jasper Hale," Jasper said flawlessly, sticking his hand out.

Dad seemed to recover his senses, shaking his hand. "You must be the boy that my girl is so taken with."

"Dad!" I hissed at him. They ignored me.

"Have a seat, son," Dad indicated. "Where did all this food come from?"

"Well, my family made dinner for Alice's birthday, and we thought it was only fair that you guys got some of the leftovers. This morning, my mother made omelets, and she thought Alice might like one, too." _Oh, Jasper Hale, you are such a dazzling liar, _I thought.

Dad considered this. "That's mighty nice of your folks. I think very highly of your father and all the help he's given Alice."

I loved being talked about like I wasn't in the room.

"So, you're originally from the South, correct?"

"Aw, Dad, don't grill him; leave him alone," I whined.

They ignored me again. "Yes, sir, from Houston. Carlisle and Esme adopted me and my twin sister," Jasper answered. Twin sister, indeed.

"You seem like a clean-cut sort…no disciplinary records, no speeding tickets. I take it you're smart?" Dad asked.

The question threw Jasper for a loop, and he looked embarrassed. "I don't like to brag…" he said.

Dad actually cracked a grin. "That's okay, son; I know about your academic reputation; I know you're not stupid. But what are your intentions for my daughter?"

I didn't even bother to protest, since at this moment in time, I didn't exist.

"Well, sir, I plan to get to know her better. Alice is an incredible woman. I'd like to be better acquainted with her and with you, and hopefully, at some point, she'll agree to be my girlfriend," Jasper said, looking down and smiling.

Oh, of _course_ I existed when I turned neon red. Dad and Jasper both seemed to remember suddenly that I was still standing there, and they stared at me for a few seconds. "Hmph. Well. Can't argue that you're respectful," Dad grumbled slightly. I knew he didn't want me to have a boyfriend. It was nothing against Jasper personally. "I see you tried the cake," Dad said cautiously. "How was it?"

I tried to pass my grimace off as a smile. "It was so good that Jasper and I ate all of it," I said sweetly.

He broke into laughter and looked twenty years younger. "Ali, you're a good actor, but you're a really rotten liar. Thanks for trying anyways," he said as he poured himself some coffee, packed a lunch, and bade us good day and not to roam too far, which was code-speak for "Stay at home today, please and thanks."

I stood up to start washing the dishes, and Jasper dried them. "Did you mean what you said about wanting me to be your girlfriend?" I asked, looking over at me.

His amber eyes met mine. "Yes," he said seriously.

I dropped the plate I was holding and sloshed soapy water all over myself. "Oh!" I said, both in response to the suds and his answer.

He laughed and handed me the towel. "Did you think I made it up?"

"No, it just surprised me, that's all," I mopped water off the kitchen floor.

"What do you have planned for today?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, entirely too much. I need to work on my essay on that James Joyce novel, and I had a bunch of phone calls yesterday that I should return…they're probably from my family," I sighed.

He thought about this for a moment. "You know, actually, I lied when I said that Esme likes you. She is so ecstatic that you could probably have a rhino horn and she'd love you just the same. She's spent the last seventy years worrying about me being alone. Last night, her hugging you was a restraint. She was practically choking with satisfaction," he joked.

"Oh, so it's not about my personality or my wits and charm, but about my very existence?" I joked back.

"Don't get me wrong; personality and wits and charm help, too," he said with mock seriousness. I sent a wave of water on him, but he knew how to fight back. Very quickly we found that there was no water in the sink, but there was an awful lot on us and the floor. I was laughing so hard that I had trouble breathing. He pulled me against his side and I leaned my head against him, listening to the bass laughter reverberating in his chest. We stood like that with arms draped around each other and my head on his chest when he looked down at me and said, "You know, I'd ask you to be my girlfriend now, but I have difficulty being around you."

I brought my heel down on his toe and probably gave myself a bruise. "No, let me explain," he said, loosening his grasp but pulling my hands as we sat down at the table again. "I don't think you realize something, and I don't think I did a good job of explaining it. Because I have not been…'vegetarian' for as long as my family, I have less self-control. It is much harder for me to do what is relatively easy for them—be around humans, ignore the thirst that burns constantly. I'm not less committed; after all, I joined on my own, but having a full century of blood at my disposal has made this a very hard adjustment. I don't think you realize just how good you smell to me. I told you about the whole vampire-human match theory. I told you the truth: the pull is so strong that almost no one resists it. I care about you too much to hurt you, but it's hard to allow myself to be more vulnerable than I already am. What can I say?" he grinned. "You disarm me. Do I scare you?" he added.

"No," I said confidently, rolling my eyes as I felt his amazement, yet again. "I trust you. You should trust yourself more." I tried to put myself into his shoes. I knew how good he smelled to _me._ "What do I smell like to you?" I asked quietly.

His expression carried a hint of pain. "Honeysuckle. The best and sweetest honeysuckle that's ever bloomed. And something cleaner, but I'm not sure what it is—like a cut-open apple or mint leaves, maybe. But mostly honeysuckle."

I smiled wryly at the irony. "Honeysuckle has always been my favorite scent," I said lightly.

He rolled his eyes. "I have no idea what you actually _try_ to smell like, though I suppose if I concentrated, I could tell." He pulled me gently toward him and sniffed my hair delicately. "Mint and lavender?"

I nodded. "My shampoo and conditioner." I plopped down on the floor in front of his chair and leaned my back into his legs. He eased the elastic out of my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. He curled his fingers around the waves dexterously. I couldn't see what he was doing, but it felt good, and I imagined he was twisting and untwisting it into coils. I felt that he was gently amazed with something—my hair, I assumed, and I sighed with contentment. I felt myself growing drowsier and probably would have fallen asleep entirely except that I was shivering. "Jasper?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm cold," I said lamely.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry; I forgot about our water fight. You'd probably like to shower."

"That would be correct," I sighed. "Might as well knock out today's to-do list," I tried to be enthusiastic as I handed him the newly washed casserole dish. "Could you do me a favor?" I asked.

"Of course."

I grabbed my camera off the kitchen table, popped up the spindle, and started winding the wheel to rewind the film. I really wanted that film back. "Could you drop this off at a pharmacy for me if I ever get it rewound?"

"Only if I can get doubles," he said innocently. It worked entirely too well—a honey-colored curl had fallen over his forehead.

I pursed my lips in pretend thought. "Well, okay, if you insist," I said, popping the film canister out of the back and tossing it to him.

He grinned at me, catching it deftly, and promised to bring them back. Then, so fast I wasn't sure it really happened, he ghosted his lips across my cheek and flew out the door. I laughed and shook my head as I trudged up the stairs to the promised sanctuary of the hot shower. Knowing I wasn't leaving the house today, I let it dry naturally and didn't do anything to it. I pulled on a long sleeved t-shirt and yoga pants and flopped on my bed to return phone calls.

I dialed voicemail and immediately pulled the phone an inch away from my ear. Cynthia's bubbly voice overflowed into the room as if she were right next to me. "Hi, Ali, happy birthday!" she squealed. "I miss you a lot; I wish you could come home. I'm having so much fun; I've made lots of new friends at my new school. I model now, and it's just great." She giggled. "Hey, did I tell you I won that big regional pageant? Well, I did! I'm going to be in a magazine, and I think that the lady might call you for some questions. I hope that's okay!" The message cut her off while she was still going strong. I missed my sister's youthful enthusiasm even if I wasn't sure I missed her. I'd never had the close bond with her that I wanted because I'd always thought we were too different. Now I wondered if I should have given her another chance.

The next phone call was from my Tante Chantal, and I grinned to hear her lilting Franglish—she and my mother both lived in France as kids, but you'd never know it from hearing my mom. "_Bonne anniversaire,_ _ma chérie! _I hope you're enjoying yourself up there in the North, _pas non pour moi._ Too chilly! Oh, wait; _excusez_…_bourée!_" I started laughing; she was playing this cutthroat game she and her friends loved. "You know you're always welcome here, _chère; _I could care less what my ridiculous sister has to say…Anyway, I love you, baby. Don't you forget your tante; you better call me soon." That put me in a good mood; Tante Chantal was one of the most genuine people I'd ever met, and her heart was as big as a whale's. Not to mention her cooking was fantastic.

Lastly was the phone call I didn't expect and very much dreaded. "Well…happy birthday, daughter," my mother's voice said. "I've thought a lot about you"—that surprised me—"and I truly am sorry I couldn't make you happy. I'm a selfish creature, but can you blame me? I'm only human. Well, tell your father hello. Enjoy your birthday. I wired you a check. I'll call soon."

Even if they went relatively well, phone calls from my mother crippled me. After they were over, even if I hadn't said a word, I still had an urge to make like an ostrich and bury my head in my covers. But I managed to shake it off this time. I had too much to do, and I was too buoyed by the pleasantness of the past two days to let it bother me. After I did a load of laundry and cleaned the bathroom, I started to work on the essay for English when I remembered I hadn't actually finished the book, so I curled up in my chair and resumed _A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man._ The class had grumbled when it had been assigned, a last minute change from _Macbeth_, but I really enjoyed the book. Joyce's thought pattern was similar to mine. The wind gently whisked leaves from the trees, Sufjan Stevens sang at me, and all felt well with the world. I was so relaxed that I dozed off.

While I dozed, I dreamed. My dreams were vague and fast-moving. I saw an overnight flat-rate envelope sitting on my bed, and I knew I did not want to open it. My dream shifted, but the image was blurry, like I was looking at it from underwater. Next I saw a door being slammed in my face, but I couldn't see where I was or who was doing the slamming. I woke up by a real door being slammed, and I jumped out of the chair and ran down the stairs. Jasper was standing at the kitchen table eagerly pulling the pictures out of the paper wrappings. He spread them out across the table as I came to stand next to him. "Nice afternoon?" he asked.

I chuckled. "I didn't get a lot done," I confessed. "I cleaned the bathroom, listened to the birthday wishes on my voicemail, and started to finish my book when I dozed off."

"Who called?"

"My sister, who won a regional pageant; my mother, who was uncharacteristically pleasant; and my Tante Chantal, my mother's sister, who is as different from her as a pineapple is from a dog."

Jasper laughed. "That's quite a comparison."

"It's true! Tante Chantal is one of those delightful sorts of Cajuns who stayed Catholic and drinks and plays cutthroat card games and got married and had lots of kids. She's a wonderful cook, and she has a good heart. Oh, that's a good one," I pointed at one of the pictures. It was the picture that I took on the ferry with Jasper smiling at me over his shoulder, just caught off guard.

Jasper made a face. "I think this one is a good one," he said, pointing. It wasn't just a good one; it was perfect. It was one that was taken of us at the gardens. Jasper was standing behind me with his arms around me, his fingers laced in mine, and my face was crinkled in laughter. He was looking down at me with a fool's grin on his face like he'd never seen anything quite like me before. It was…breathtaking. The joy rolling off the picture was tangible. Actually, I could feel Jasper's joy and quiet wonder, too. He plucked the picture off the table, revealing its double underneath. "I'm glad I got doubles," he chuckled softly. We peered over the rest of the photos of the fiery trees, frail roses, and other snapshots of life as I saw it.

He smiled at me suddenly, hugging me against his side.

"What?"

"You're one of a kind, Alice Brandon," he said slowly, smiling as he formed the words. Then he sighed. "I would like to stay here all day, and I mean, really would like to stay here all day…but Emmett and Edward and I have to go hunting."

Oh, right. For the first time I noticed how dark his eyes were, how prominent the circles were under his eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget. He acted so human. "You bring it out in me," he said, responding to the statement I didn't make.

"How do you hunt?" I asked cautiously. He ran his tongue along the edge of his top teeth. Oh. Made sense. "What do you hunt?" I asked.

"Whatever is plentiful. Emmett prefers grizzly—he likes to play with his food. Edward likes mountain lion."

"And you?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Deer," he answered. "Deer was my favorite when I was human," he mused. "You're very good at talking about this."

I shrugged. "I'm good with weird. I mean, things don't shake me up easily."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

I nodded slightly. "Can't do anything about weirdness. It is what it is."

He shook his head. "At least I don't have to worry about you suddenly going crazy while I'm gone."

"When will you be back?" I felt my face slip involuntarily into a pout.

He chuckled. "As soon as we can be. Hopefully sometime tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. We'll be at school tomorrow for sure."

"Don't you need to sleep?"

He'd turned to leave, but my question stopped him in his tracks. His gaze was somber and so sad. "I can't."

"Ever?" I was slightly amazed.

"Nope. No vampire can…so whatever time I get back from hunting doesn't affect school too much," he finished conversationally. "I do hope you have a pleasant Sunday, Miss Brandon," he said chivalrously, though I could see the mirth in his eyes. He took a breath as if to say something, then he fell short. He took another breath, held it, seemed to change his mind, and opened his mouth. "I think…"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" I said, turning it into several syllables.

"I…well…I think that I'm a little bit in love with you," he smiled at me before practically taking flight out the door and across the yard.

Oh, Lord. The image replayed itself in my mind a thousand times in half a minute; my heart galloped wildly. I sank down against the kitchen cabinets under the counter, no longer able to support my own weight. I tried to control my breathing, tried to focus on my heartbeat. This was altogether too wonderful for me to handle, but my reaction was still absurd, as was the other emotion I felt, and I was pretty sure it was…panic? Yes, panic. I let the memories roll over me as I remained slumped in my reverie.

Commitment issues, some had said. Others had just said "bitch" and passed on. Still others had used the terms "overly virtuous" and "ridiculous". They'd asked what I was trying to protect, why I couldn't joke with them. Why I couldn't return the simple and half-intended "I love you" that they'd say to me, arms slung around me at a party when they'd had too much to drink. How was I supposed to tell the drunken beauty queens, the boorish jocks, that I was trying to protect myself? I'd never done well with love. Weird I could handle. Panic was okay. I was a good woman to have in a catastrophe, or so I'd been told. But love? Weddings? Most chick flicks and TV shows? Nope. I could only deal with books because I couldn't see real live people acting out their flowery visions of everlasting partnership. Too many times in my naïve and misunderstanding youth had I wasted my impetuous, childish affections on my stoic mother, who would never be able to return the gesture. She didn't even tell Cynthia she loved her, even though she openly favored Cynthia over me. That was one more cog in my biological machine that bore my mother's seal. She couldn't stomach love either. I had never been sure what her problem was; maybe it was her souring marriage and subsequent inability to find a man and keep him. But mine was too much wishful thinking. I spent too much time in my fantasy world dreaming of the perfect man who would love and adore me irrevocably, but I was so terrified of rejection that I'd never so much as breathed the sentiment to anyone, even in jest.

Something shifted inside me then, a permanent and irreversible change from one state of being to another. I was loved, and it was declared openly, never to be taken back. Once you said something out loud, you couldn't take it back, even if you wanted to—you meant it at one point. And as of right now, Jasper Hale loved me. He said so himself. And I had no idea what to do with it. I just hoped he was a very patient soul while I got over myself and mustered up the courage and certainty to tell him my feelings. "Good Lord Almighty," I said out loud, letting my head fall against the cabinets with a small moan. "Whatever next?!"


	11. Family

Family

Dad came home not long later—by that point I had picked myself off the floor and had actually done something with my day—and said we'd been invited to Billy and Jacob's for dinner, so I changed clothes, bundled up leftovers, and slid into the cruiser next to him. I really hoped for a silent drive. "So, about this Hale boy…"

Damn. I could only be allotted so much luck a day, I supposed. "Yes?" I said warily.

Dad laughed. "Don't worry, honey. I don't like the idea of you dating; you're just seventeen, but he seems like an admirable boy. I approve as much as a father can approve of sharing his little girl with someone else."

I gave him a long-suffering look. "Thanks so much for your support," I said jokingly.

"Be careful, though, Alice."

"About what?" I was really hoping he wasn't going to talk about anything…embarrassing.

"I don't want you to give anyone the wrong idea."

Of course he was being vague. How typical. "About _what_?"

"I know some of the guys here are interested in you, and I wouldn't want them to get their feelings hurt. So just, you know, watch yourself."

"Dad, are you worried about them having the wrong idea, or my friendliness being misconstrued as skankiness?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Er…both," he admitted sheepishly.

I sighed. "I will absolutely do my best, especially where Jacob is concerned, because I know that's what you were getting at."

He smiled at me. "That's my girl."

Billy's tiny house overflowed with all of us in it. Jacob was thrilled with the leftovers, and Billy pretended not to be. "Do you distrust my cooking expertise?" he asked with mock offense.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because buying ready-made pizza and pasta at the grocery store is _really _hard to do."

We laughed as Billy pantomimed ramming Jacob in the ankles. It was a good Sunday dinner—of course, it was centered on NFL football, and I filled Jacob in about Victoria and my birthday. I managed to catch myself just before mentioning Dad's failure of a cake. He could tell, though, and he shot daggers at me in a loving way. Jacob seemed to take my references to Jasper in stride, and I appreciated knowing that he wasn't lying to me. I was glad he and I thought of each other as good friends. I noticed Billy looking at me curiously several times throughout the night, his ancient eyes peering out of his leathered, wrinkled blanket of a face, but he didn't say anything until we were about to leave. Jacob and my dad were out in the yard, and Billy caught me by the arm.

"Happy late birthday, Alice. I'm glad to see you're doing well, but I wanted to ask you to be careful," his melodious voice resonated.

It was my turn to be curious. "I will, Billy. I'm always careful," I replied.

"What I meant was, be careful about whom you count as friends."

"Er…okay, but I really have—"

"Alice, please don't do what you're doing. Don't be friends with him," he pleaded.

I was utterly confused. "Why?"

"I don't think it's very safe for you, that's all," he said defensively. "I don't think you realize what he's like."

I rolled my eyes. "Billy, is this about that legend? Because if it is, I think it's complete bull-shenanigans—no offense—but I don't want to judge someone before I know him."

"Jake wasn't supposed to tell you that," he muttered darkly. "Anyway, be that as it were, just remember what I said, and think about it. Don't judge someone before getting to know him, but don't let any preconceived notions cloud your judgment," he said with a brighter tone. He was staring directly at my head at the 'preconceived notions' part. I was starting to feel like everyone knew about my pseudo-psychic dreams.

"Okay, Billy," I replied cautiously. I assured him I'd see him soon because Jacob might require an editor for his English papers, or so he told me. On the dark drive home, Dad could tell I was thinking heavily on something, so he asked what's up. "I don't think Billy likes Jasper…at all," I said even more cautiously, knowing Dad's feelings on people who didn't like the Cullens.

"Are you sure he's not just upset you're not more interested in Jake?"

I looked at him. "Dad, isn't he like, fifteen?"

"Well, you're seventeen, and Jasper's interested in you, and he's eighteen," Dad retorted.

_Well, actually…_ I thought to myself. "I think this is something more. He kept warning me not to 'do what I'm doing', which I can only assume is code for, 'Keep away from the Cullens.'"

Dad's jaw set angrily. "Yeah, and Billy and Jacob stopped going to the doctor when the Cullens moved to town, too," he muttered.

"Why?" I asked. "Is it because of that stupid story?" Even though the Cullens _were_ the Cold Ones, that still didn't explain why the Quileutes wouldn't like them.

"I guess so," he conceded. "Billy hasn't exactly told me any of their stories… probably because I think they're a bunch of superstitious fools, but they're friends, practically family." He fell silent for the rest of the drive, leaving me to my own thoughts. Jasper was still hunting, so I framed and arranged yesterday's pictures and fell asleep reading a book on the Civil War that my grandfather had given me. The romanticism of _Gone with the Wind _was lost on me after the second showing—I thought Scarlett was stupid—so my views of the Civil War had always been clouded, but of course Jasper made it interesting. I wanted to learn more about anything he'd been a part of, and the vain part of me didn't want to look ignorant.

I didn't feel the compulsion to be early for school. I felt tired and overdrawn from the busy weekend, but I dragged myself out nonetheless. As an experiment, I put setting mousse in my hair and let it run wavy and free; Dad looked at me with surprise over the rim of his coffee cup on my way out the door. It had turned bitterly cold and windy; Dean complained loudly as his cold engine struggled to turn over. Jasper was leaning against Edward's Volvo when I got to school. His face split into a smile as I approached. "I like what you've done to your hair," he said, tugging at the ends playfully before taking one of my small hands in his.

"Everyone is staring at us, you know," I said casually.

"So?" His grin and amber eyes were irresistible. And that was that.

Not that anyone else would let that dismissal rest. I was bombarded all day. The most typical comment was, "Well, it looks like _someone_ had a good weekend." And they were right. I told everyone we weren't dating, but I don't think anyone bought it, including me. I managed to pay a phenomenal amount of non-attention in my classes, and I had to cock my head and say, "Sorry, beg your pardon?" on more than one occasion. Academia was so disinteresting, especially when you read ahead over the weekend anticipating how little attention you'd pay in class.

I had to admit that the open stares and gawking I encountered when Jasper beckoned me to sit with him at lunch were kind of fun. "How was your Sunday?" he asked lightly.

I rolled my eyes. "Pass. And yours?"

"Better than yours, I'm going to guess."

"My dad and I went to La Push, and what would have otherwise been a fun night was spoiled by my dad's superstitious best friend telling me to stay away from your family or else," I said.

"This is very interesting…" Jasper pursed his lips. "Or else what?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, biting into my bagel. "He didn't say what would happen. Okay, so he didn't explicitly say 'or else'—minor detail. But he did clearly convey that he doesn't like your family and doesn't want me to be around you. Why doesn't he like you?"

"None of the Quileutes do, but I suppose he's trying to protect you," he remarked.

I growled through my teeth. "I can stand up for myself."

He laughed. "I don't doubt it. You know what the interesting thing about this is?"

"What?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow as I twirled the stem of my apple.

Jasper leaned in as if he were about to reveal a big secret. "Jacob was not supposed to tell you those legends," he whispered.

I popped my open palm onto the table and shook my head, pulling back. "Can I please know what's going on? Billy said Jacob wasn't supposed to tell me, you said he wasn't supposed to tell me… I'm sorry, but I'm failing to see the existential purpose of this."

The bell rang, accentuating my point, and I groaned as I hoisted my bag to my shoulders, preparing to turn around and head to class. Jasper tugged on my strap. "This is exactly why this"—he gestured broadly with his hand—"is so dangerous for you. If vegetarian vampires were all there was to it, this would be a cakewalk," he whispered, sending cold fire dancing on my spine. "There is so much more to know…it's all very complicated-"

"Then teach me," I said boldly, sticking my jaw out.

He considered me for a moment, feeling me out with his ability, then he swallowed and dazzled me again with his eyes and smile. "Okay, then, Miss Alice. To Calculus, shall we?"

I didn't get my answers right away. I forced myself to pay attention in Calculus—I'd just bombed a quiz and couldn't afford to sidestep anything else for the rest of the midterm. Despite being in a senior class, math really wasn't my forte, and it came slowly to me. I threw myself into the lecture as wholeheartedly as I could. The rest of my day was pretty breakneck; then came grocery shopping, making a halfhearted attempt to cook something new with the inexhaustible supply of fish in the freezer, and catching up on _Candide_, which is to say that I read the entire book because the test was tomorrow. I stumbled up to my room and collapsed on my bed, not intending to sleep but grateful for the stillness. Until, of course, the phone rang.

"Hello, this is Vickie Hanson with _Seventeen, _and I'm looking for Alice Brandon. Is she available?"

"Um…speaking," I floundered. I wasn't sure if my confusion could grow any more.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions for an article, if you don't mind."

The pieces fell into place. "Oh, right, about my sister. Sure, I can give you anything you need."

"Well, actually, we already interviewed her sister, and we felt the piece was a little bit…dry." she twittered nervously. "We'd like to interview _you_ because of how much your sister talked about you, and we felt it would be a nice companion piece. Two sides of the same coin, if you will."

"Um…sure," I repeated lamely. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, to start, why did you leave pageantry just as you were rising to the top?"

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "I was hardly near the top, but I just didn't really feel like it was my thing."

"Not your thing. How could that trendsetting lifestyle not be your thing?" she asked incredulously.

"I just…" I shrugged. "I'm more into photography and music…and history," I added. "Modeling was more of my mom's idea."

"Your mother…is she the reason you moved to Washington?"

"No," I lied adamantly. "I wanted to get to know my dad better, and a change of scenery seemed nice."

"What is your relationship like with your mother?"

I didn't like this question. "My mother and I…are very different people, but we love each other," I said as truthfully as I could.

She asked me a few inconsequential questions about my hobbies, academics, and my adjustments to Washington and then hung up. I fell asleep soon afterward and passed it out of my mind. The next two weeks were a complete whirlwind of midterms shoved in before the Thanksgiving holiday. My afternoons unfortunately didn't include Jasper as much as I wished, but he came over almost every night. I learned that by telling me the legends, Jacob had broken some vampire treaty made with the Quileutes that as long as the vampires didn't hunt on Quileute lands or change any humans, that the Quileutes wouldn't reveal them. I immersed myself in my budding friendship with Kate, relationship with Jasper, and schoolwork, leaving little time for anything else. It was maybe two weeks after the interview, which I'd forgotten about, when I got a phone call. I picked up the phone and heard one long, irate shriek, followed by a banging noise, like someone pounding a phone into a table. Dad's phone didn't have caller ID, and I passed the call off as a prank.

The next day, I came home from school to find a fat, overnight envelope. I ripped the tab open curiously and tipped it over to find several items. The largest and most colorful was the December issue of _Seventeen._ Suddenly, I did not have a good feeling in the pit of my stomach anymore. I glanced at the cover and knew my bad feeling was right. The dual headliner read "Inside The Limelight: Rising Star Revealed, Sister Tells All." I tore through the magazine to the article. The whole thing was terribly, horribly, cataclysmically wrong. "In a modern-day Cinderella tale, one daughter is favored while the other is the victim of a mother's hatred," the exposé read. The article proceeded to misquote me and talk about fictional physical abuse given to me. It detailed a mostly-untrue life of fantastic opulence while I got second-best of everything and included doctored photos of me with bruises. The quote about my mother that I gave her? Well, it was changed to, "My mother is a very complicated woman. She was diagnosed bipolar, and I guess that I'm her form of emotional Tylenol."

I threw the magazine down on the kitchen table, unable to stomach any more. Then I noticed brightly colored pictures spilling over the table. I recognized them as family photos. My face was cut out of all of them. Next I picked up a newspaper clipping with a bold headline proclaiming FORMER TEEN QUEEN FOUND DEAD. The clipping from the Biloxi paper talked about my apparent death of anorexia, stating that I'd moved to Washington to seek treatment with my father (true) and that I'd succumbed (false) and that my family was terribly grieved and would hold a private memorial service (also false).

I stared at the hateful contents of the envelope, finally understanding that my mother had faked my own death and _Seventeen _had slandered me. The newspaper clipping shook in my hand. I couldn't breathe. I felt the walls of my desiccated lungs constricting and collapsing in on themselves. I had taken so many low blows from her without a complaint, but this was beyond everything else combined. I slid down along the wall, slumping in on myself, curling up. In its self-defense, my mind wouldn't allow me to think or do anything else. I'm not sure how long I sat there, but it couldn't have been more than an hour. For once, I felt no urge to punish myself by starving. I felt the urge to drown myself in comfort food. I grabbed my keys and drove in a slow daze to the Cullens'. Jasper met me at the door. It didn't take an empath to sense my emotions, I was sure. "Alice what…"

I stopped him. "I'm sorry; I really need to see Esme. I'll explain later. Promise." My voice sounded so wooden, so calm. I was surprised I could talk at all, considering the gorge of bile rising in my throat. I took a few deep breaths, sensing Jasper's distress, and wandered up the stairs to Esme's boudoir, where she was sitting on the couch humming over color swatches. She smiled when she saw me, but her face fell quickly. I sucked in my breath to steady myself. "I got a letter from my mother today," I said conversationally. "I died. Who knew?"

I dropped the envelope onto the table and watched her lovely, shocked face as she took in the newspaper article detailing my demise, the magazine interview gone awry, the photos. I thought I could deal with this until she looked into my eyes. Her glorious eyes were so grief-stricken. "Dearest Alice…" she breathed, and her face crumpled. I felt mine mirror hers as I melted into her arms. She played with my hair, stroked my back, and rocked me as I cried stormily. I'd never cried like this before. The sobs were loud and animalistic. They frightened me, as did the wave of loss that swept over my body.

When my sobs finally abated just enough so that I could speak, I choked out, "I don't know why I care. But she gave birth to me. She raised me. Why doesn't she want me?" Next came shaking that scared me almost as much as the feral sobs that ripped my throat apart.

Gradually my body calmed itself, and then I felt very tired. Esme held me for a long time without saying anything. She'd noticed I'd begun to shiver from the slight cold of her skin, and she pulled a woolly throw blanket over me. "Alice," she said finally, "did you ever hear how Carlisle found me?"

"Not the whole story," I replied.

"Well, he set a broken leg of mine when I was a girl trying to climb a tree, but he changed me after the death of my child. I married a man who was abusive, and I left him after I found out I was pregnant. The poor dear came early and was very sick. He died in my arms a few days after birth. That's why I jumped off the cliff, you know."

Shock pelted my brain. "Jazz s-said you f-fell," I stammered.

She smiled, still stroking my hair. "He's much too kind. I had every intention of dying. I couldn't see how any good could happen to me." She was quiet for a while, and then she said, "Alice, as someone who has lost a child, I can't begin to imagine why anyone would lose one voluntarily. I know I am not the woman who gave you life, and I'm not trying to replace the hole she's left. But I love you. You are a beautiful, brilliant, big-hearted lady, and I am so very proud of who you are and what you do. Anyone with an ounce of sense would consider herself lucky to be your mother. The woman who gave you life might not realize what a blessing you are and she may not want you, but I do," she finished fiercely.

I didn't know what to say or do; my heart rose to my throat. I felt a hand on my shoulder; Carlisle had appeared. "Esme is telling the truth, Alice," he said quietly. "You are very much wanted by all of us."

I looked up at him. I felt five years old again. "Thank you, Carlisle," I said quietly. He bent and ghosted his lips across my cheek gently before he scooped up his things and left.

I turned back to Esme and slid off her lap. "Thank you for being my mother," I said, kissing her graceful cheek.

"Thank you for letting me be," she said simply, rising and pressing her lips to my forehead.

I wandered down the hallway to Jasper's room. He was sitting on the low couch/bed tuning his guitar and strumming chords absentmindedly. He set it aside and stood when I came in the room. "I hope you were eavesdropping so I don't have to go through all of that again," I said matter-of-factly.

He smiled slightly. "I didn't have to eavesdrop. I think everyone heard you." He wrapped his arms around me, letting his feelings run straight to my heart while he languidly traced my curves and contours with his fingertips. He filled me with love, steadfastness, strength—one of the many ways he told me I was adored and wanted.

I heard Edward playing a twinkling melody on the piano downstairs. "Mmm, that's nice," I said contentedly. "What is it?"

Jasper crushed me to his chest gently. "It's something he wrote. It's for you." his bass voice rumbled musically in his chest. My eyes went wide. I was too touched to say anything.

He swayed me gently as we listened to the notes of the song flow around us. He smoothed his fingertips over my hair, my cheekbones, across my lips, sparking tiny wildfires everywhere he touched. "Alice…I know that us trying to be your family is like…like how tofu must be compared to real meat…okay, that's a terrible comparison, since I haven't ever had tofu and haven't eaten for a long time... But you are wanted; you are loved by all of us, especially me. I'm really bad at this. I've never done this before. I didn't even think it was possible for me to do this. But you…you are gorgeous and brilliant and you have this spirit that leaves me speechless…and I love you." He looked at me seriously.

I knew this moment had been coming, but it was much less final and fatalistic than I thought it would be. I took a deep breath. "I love you, too, Jasper Hale."

A slow grin split his face. He kept his eyes on mine as he slowly leaned in and kissed me. My heart stopped along with my breathing. My God, he was a good kisser. His hand moved to tangle in my hair as I slid my arms tighter around him. He pulled away far too soon, but I guess it was okay that he did, because my knees had literally knocked together like a colt's, and they were starting to buckle. He cupped my face in his hands and smiled again. "Well, that was an interesting experiment."

I sucked in some much needed oxygen. "I wouldn't mind if we, you know, practiced…worked out the kinks," I joked, except that I meant every word.

He humored me and laughed. "We've got all the time in the world, little lady," he said, pressing his lips softly to mine as he spun me around. Downstairs Edward's song transformed into something tempestuous and delightful. I was with the family that made me whole. For once, I had a home forever and always.


	12. History

History

I knew that my first two steps after my declaration of undying love to Jasper had to be telling my dad about the tyrannical stupidity of my mother and calling _Seventeen_ to give them a tongue lashing. I realized this was a perfect opportunity for me to get a lawyer, but I'd never been one for that much drama. Jasper stayed by my side quietly as I bustled to throw together a snack for myself; I'd declared tonight Clean Out The Fridge night. "Is that supposed to be good?" Jasper asked skeptically, noting the rice, butter, and sugar I was throwing together in a bowl.

I mock-scowled at him. "Are you castigating my cooking, Mr. Hale?"

He smiled at me. "Of course not, darlin'. But seriously, things that smell really good to you—apple pie, for example—are combinations. I smell each ingredient individually…."

"Oh!" I realized that rice and butter and sugar probably smelled disgusting.

"Don't get me wrong, even if I couldn't smell it, I don't think it would be any more…appetizing…" he scrunched his nose at the bowl dubiously.

"Didn't your mama ever feed you grits?" I joked. "My grandma fixed grits this way when I was a kid, and she always said that rice was the poor-man's substitute to grits."

"Sure, my mama fed me grits. That's one of the only things I can remember from being human."

"Why is that, by the way? Why do you lose your memories when you change?"

He thought about this for a second, smoothing the cuffs of his striped button-down over the ends of his sweater sleeves. "We don't lose them, per se. We just…forget."

I stared at him. "How do you just forget all that? There are some things, both good and bad, that I don't think I could forget if I tried."

"Think about it. Do you remember every single day of when you were a child? Do you remember every single day of the last school year, or every detail of what happened last Thursday? You remember the key events, the big highlights. I remember things that were important to me."

"What do you remember?" I said, jumping up onto the kitchen counter.

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair slightly. "My mother's blue eyes. Clothes flapping on a line. My father tuning his guitar and teaching me how to play. The feel of the wind on my face. We had a cattle ranch with a small farm. I had two younger sisters named Louisa and Violet and a dog named Crockett. I can remember specific instances, like breaking my arm when I was ten, or when I had to birth a calf—not something I recommend for the weak-stomached," he added.

I leaned forward slightly. "What about after you change?"

He sighed, opening his eyes. "We're frozen."

"Frozen how?"

"Frozen in this"—he framed his body with his own hand like a game-show host—"youthful perfection forever. We never move forward. Our skin doesn't age, our bodies stay the same. Our hair doesn't grow. Our personalities…well, personalities adapt as a result of growing up and growing older, so for many of us, our personalities never change. It would take something rather dramatic to change them noticeably." He'd stood and come over to the counter to stand in front of me during this speech, one hand delicately tangled in my hair.

I could think of a million thoughts shooting through my head at laser speeds that I wanted to say, most of which were more disgustingly sentimental than I ever thought myself capable of inventing. Instead, I subconsciously settled for the lame and trite as a car rumbled into the driveway. "My dad is coming," I sighed.

Jasper flashed over to his seat at the table just as Dad came in. "Hey, Ali; Hi, Jasper. How was your day?"

I waited until he hung his gun holster up. "Well, actually…" I trailed off and looked at Jasper.

"We have something we need to tell you about, sir," Jasper said.

Dad's eyes bulged as he looked from me to Jasper and back again. "You're pregnant, aren't you?!"

I jumped off the counter, feeling my face flush. "What?! No! Why do parents always jump to that conclusion? When would I even have the time to _get_ pregnant; have _you_ ever had to study for a Calculus midterm?! I mean, Jasper's not even my boyfriend…well, not technically…"

"Relax, Ali, I'm sorry. I jumped to conclusions. You were saying?" Dad said.

I took in a deep breath. "Right. Sorry. Well, I got a letter from Mom today, sort of."

"Oh…"

I handed him the envelope and moved to sit next to Jasper. He held my hand tightly, feeling my anguish. He sent me his love and confidence, though, as always, his feelings weren't able to override mine, a fact that never ceased to puzzle him. I watched Dad's face slowly turn from flesh-colored to pink to red to purple to completely white. He brought his eyes to mine. "Oh, my God, Alice, honey…"

"Don't worry, Dad, I'm not going to freak out on you. I already freaked out on Esme, Dr. Cullen's wife," I said smoothly.

Dad's jaw was set angrily, his brown eyes flashing. He swiped a hand through his hair angrily, making it stand up. "This is…this just…she's crossed so many lines…have you eaten?" Despite myself and the situation, I broke into hysterical giggles, for he'd just used the same line that my grandmother used on my mom, who used on me, etc. whenever a catastrophe had just taken place. Dad seemed to realize his 'mistake' and grimaced wryly. "There's so much to do…phonebook," he muttered to himself, moving into the living room to dig through the desk.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I need to find…where is…oh, here. I'm calling the lawyer who handled my divorce," he mumbled.

Shock assaulted me. "Lawyer? For what?" Anxiety and surprise made my voice a little higher than normal. I could feel Jasper's distress at my distress and feeble attempts to soothe me, but he liked me too much to lie to me with fake feelings.

Dad looked at me levelly. "Your mother broke the law, Alice. I'm going to nail her to the wall."

I sat there for a full sixty seconds. I counted, my lips moving silently. Jasper was becoming more distressed at my sudden numbness of feeling—overprotective fool, I thought to myself. Finally, in a calm and strained voice, I said, "Dad? Does that mean, you know, trials and exposés and the whole nine yards?"

"Er…yeah, that's typically what the legal system entails," Dad said, not noticing my internal breakdown. I felt ridiculous, but that didn't stop the heightened pulse rate and shallow breathing as I fought to control myself. Memories of the custody battle over me from three summers ago flooded back. It hadn't been the best summer I'd ever had, and my mom still won. She always wins. I was grateful for the coolness of Jasper's hand, because I was flushed.

I took a deep breath. I seemed to be taking a lot of those lately. "Dad, if there is a trial, do I have to testify?"

"Not if you don't want to, honey," he said sympathetically.

"Are you really going through with this?"

He sighed. He looked ten years older. "I don't know. I want to finally nail her for something, but it would cause an awful mess, and I hate messes…" he shuddered. Dad hated the spotlight. He shook his head back and forth quickly, like he was trying to clear it. "I'm going to go on a walk," he said finally, grabbing a flashlight and his raincoat.

I counted my pulse rate. Jasper's liquid eyes were tormented. I smiled apologetically. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Please put your hand on the back of my neck," I said as my forehead fell forward to touch the table.

He didn't just comply; he scooped me into his lap and pressed his hand on the back of my neck as I rested my head on his chest. I was thankful that the coolness of his skin wasn't dramatically tempered by his clothing. I felt like a china doll in his lap. I could vaguely feel a foreign emotion attempting to penetrate my conscience, and I asked, "Are you doing that?"

"Yes; can you feel anything?" he peered down at me.

I frowned. "Not really. I mean, I can feel that you're trying to do something, but I can't tell what you're trying to do, so it's not really impacting me."

He huffed out a sigh. "I give up."

I looked up at him curiously; the coolness of his skin soothed the rocking of my head and swirling of my stomach, bringing me down from the high of anxiety. "Give up on what?"

"Trying to use my ability to influence your feelings. Instead I usually end up projecting my feelings into you," he said.

I smirked slightly. "I suppose you'll just have to make me feel better the old-fashioned way…how terrible for you; I suppose you'll have to get innovative," I said with mock innocence.

He rolled his eyes at me. "You're awfully small to be so hugely irritating."

I grinned broadly despite myself. "I know. See? I feel better already, and you didn't even have to try."

"What got you feeling that way in the first place?"

My breath escaped through my teeth like a tea kettle's hiss. "Custody battle memories," I shuddered involuntarily. He raised an eyebrow curiously. "My dad had no custody rights until I was thirteen. My mom sued for full custody, and then in turn, my dad sued for partial custody. He lost, of course. And when I turned sixteen, I reached the legal age of consent, so I went before a judge and a lawyer and told them that I wanted my dad to have joint custody of me so that I could at least have the option of living with him. That part wasn't so bad. The rest of it was pretty bad. Everyone fought all the time and Cynthia did her act of begging me not to tell them that Mom wasn't really a mom so that her own way of life wouldn't be compromised, even though it wouldn't have affected her anyway because my dad isn't her dad."

Jasper's eyebrows raised in surprise. "He's not?"

I pursed my lips critically. "Jazz, have you ever seen my sister?"

"Nope."

"Okay, come with me." I jumped off his lap, took his hand, and led him up the stairs to my room. He sat down in my chair in the corner, pushing aside the edge of the curtains to observe the world outside. I went over to the bookcase and pulled out a heavy three-ring binder with a cloth-and-quilt-batting cover. "Not the most sophisticated scrapbook ever," I said, sitting cross-legged on my bed, smoothing the mint green coverlet, "but it makes moving pages much easier." He came to sit beside me gracefully, running a hand through his sandy curls.

"That's not a scrapbook, that's a small child," he said lightly.

I shrugged in acknowledgement. "It's my family history."

"Really?" his eyes lit up, and I knew he'd heard the word 'history' and been hooked.

"My grandpa was big into family lineage and ancestry—not like our breeding our prestige or anything, but the summer of the custody battle, he and I put this together because he'd traced back all sides of my mom's side of the family way back, and he had all these incredible stories and heirlooms and everything…" I trailed off, flipping through and showing Jasper the charts that traced my blood back to Norman France and Germany on one side and Ireland and Russia on the other. He delicately turned pages in awe, taking in the pages and pages of pictures that detailed everything: every family member I had, as far back as I could go; pocketwatches, jewelry, and old quilts; myself from birth to near-present; and all my photography—well, almost all of it.

"Alice, this is…this is really something else," he said, scanning the pages eagerly. At first I thought he was just looking at the pictures, and then I realized that he was actually reading the essays and snippets of writing in there, too. On top of everything else, he could read superhumanly fast. He got to the section of my maternal history. On the last page was a solitary picture on a relatively plain page. The colored photo was taken on a mountaintop overlooking a valley with fall colors on fire. The woman in the picture was laughing, a smile of true joy gracing her features. Even her glass-green eyes were laughing. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, as if it were swollen. Her teeth were white and straight, and freckles lightly danced across her nose and red, highly-boned cheeks. Her blonde-brown hair hung freely down her back. She was short, yet well-proportioned. I swallowed painfully. "That's my mother, Giselle Bertrand," I rasped. "I never knew her." To distract both of us, I flipped to the section of my own life and pointed to a fairly recent picture of my sister, who had creamy skin, golden curls, and steel blue eyes. "And obviously no resemblance to me, this is my sister, Cynthia Viviane Gregory. My sister got named after Vivian Leigh, as in Scarlett O'Hara, and I got named after a grandmother I never met and a tragically insane character from _Hamlet;_ how is that fair?" I joked.

Jasper wasn't having any of it. He peered at me curiously with butterscotch eyes that were both wary and a little pained as he tried to understand the emotions that I couldn't name myself. "What do you mean, you never knew her?" he asked quietly.

I sighed and fell back onto my bed. "My mother, her twin sister, and their older brother, Pierre, were born in Baton Rouge. Which each of them turned ten, my great-grandmother, who was rich as a queen, offered to pay for the rest of their schooling. Even if they went through college and even graduate school. But she was from France and would only pay for their schooling if they did it in France. My uncle said no; he wanted to go into the military through West Point. My tante and mom went, though, and fell in love with it. My tante became an independent fashion designer and only moved back here to take care of my grandfather when he became sick a few years ago. My mom wanted to be a model, but she was too short. She did meet a guy, though."

"A guy? What kind of a guy?"

"The worst kind, the kind that broke her heart," I explained. "He was very important in society at the time. He took advantage of her and told everyone about it, but he twisted the story around to make my mother sound like a gold-digging prostitute, and she was kicked out of the realm of the beautiful people."

Jasper whistled.

"But wait, there's more!" I said with mock enthusiasm. "She came back home, but she wasn't the same. She moved in with a friend in Biloxi who was doing some small-time modeling, and my dad was a police officer there at the time. They married, but my dad put in a request to transfer here to take care of _his_ mother. I seriously think my mom tried to be happy, I really do—but I think I have too much hope. At any rate, once she was bitten by the rich-and-famous bug, she said she had to leave this place before it smothered her. She took me with her; we lived in Biloxi, et cetera. My sister was the result of her second marriage, which wasn't quite as short-lived…I remember Brad a little; he was a nice guy, but he left when I was around five or six." My tone had lost its monotony as I giggled in remembrance of Brad.

"What happened to Brad?" Jasper asked suspiciously as a result of my sudden happiness.

"Well… he discovered he liked men…tall _Nordic_ men," I grinned.

Jasper laughed as he fell back beside me, his butterscotch eyes liquefying and smoldering at me in a way that should have been illegal. "What about your never-before mentioned uncle?" he asked.

"Nice, but sort of snobbish. He went career military for a while and then got into business. By a total fluke he invested heavily in KFC, owns half the ones in eastern Texas, and lives next door to one of the members of some girl-band in Sugar Land with his Asian wife and their über-children."

"Your mom?" he asked much more quietly.

I grudgingly admired his tenacity. "What happened in Paris when she was a university student seems to have changed her forever. I think that maybe once, she wasn't so different from me. I know that guy hurt her deeply, but I blame her for letting him change her personality this way. She just believes she's destined for bigger and better things, and unfortunately for her, rather than appreciate what is around her, she's obsessed with herself and public opinions and how to get to the next highest position." I rolled over on my side to face him.

He gently pressed his forehead against mine. "Do you blame him?" he whispered, his cool, enticingly musky breath washing over my face.

I found the process of thinking to be both annoying and marginally difficult. "No," I said at length.

"Why not?"

I considered this for a moment. "Life is too short," I decided, "and I do understand bad situations affecting people, but my mom chooses to be the way that she is," I murmured.

He ghosted his lips over mine. It was like drinking salted water; the more he kissed me, the more I wanted. This kiss was exceptionally brief as he rolled over on his back. "Ah, Alice," he breathed with a sigh, "you're too forgiving."

I sighed, too. "I know."

My dad didn't come home that night; my usually very responsible father ended up going to La Push again to stay at Billy's. He said he needed to talk to someone about what he should do. Jasper jumped on the opportunity. "Would it be terribly ungentlemanly of me to ask if you'd like to spend the night at my house?" he smiled apologetically for phrasing a question that might possibly be less than chivalric. "Bella knows you want to be her friend, or in Edward's words, are destined to be her friend, and I _think_ she might snap my head off my body if I don't let nature take its course," he joked.

I grinned, trying to conceal the sudden glow that washed over me like yellow light as to not seem obsessive or manic. I had been waiting to get to know Bella forever, and I knew that I'd be meeting her tonight—I'd had a dream about it—but that didn't stop the thrill of excitement. It was no use; I could feel the glow diffusing into a blush over my cheeks. Despite my earlier exhaustion, I felt fresh-from-the-coffee-shop energized as I gathered tomorrow's outfit and other necessities into a bag. The combination of my sudden happiness and Jasper's was intoxicating. I let out a few blips of bubbly laughter but stopped abruptly as a new thought came to me. "Will Rosalie be there?" I asked casually, raising an eyebrow.

He turned his head slightly, his brow creasing almost infinitesimally. "No, she and Emmett are hunting with Carlisle; I wouldn't be surprised if Esme had decided to go, too. Why, were you worried?"

I smirked and laughed. "No, I just wanted to show her that I can take her. I'm a big girl," I declared, placing my hands firmly on my hips as I tried to stand like the five foot superhero I thought I was sometimes.

He grinned. "I don't doubt it. Are you ready to go?"

"Just a second, please," I said as I ran to the bathroom to grab the necessaries. I was probably forgetting something important, but I didn't want to waste any more time. "How will we get there?" I asked as I came back into the room.

Jasper grinned wickedly, a gleam in his eyes. "First, are you afraid of speed?"

"No," I said with probably a little too much wariness to sound convicted.

"Good. Second, can you get a good grip on that bag?"

"Mmhmm."

He winked, blurred past me, and before I had time to process his motion, suddenly appeared in front of me again, and he slung me onto his back. "The doors are locked; don't worry. Just hold on tight, little lady," his cello voice laughed.

"Jasper, what—" Before I had a chance to get the words out, he took flight across my bedroom floor and barreled toward the open window. I let out a squeal as we flew through it and fell the twenty or so feet to the ground. I never even had a chance. His grace and fluidity astounded me as he seemed to transform into something not entirely human—I reminded myself wryly that he wasn't human—he moved as if he were made to glide over the earth. I clung tightly to his neck. I couldn't see much of the forest whipping past us, so instead I watched his face, although I didn't need his eyes to feel his exhilaration.

It felt like the span of only a few heartbeats had passed before we leaped nimbly across the river and wheeled into the Cullens' front yard. Jasper came slowly to a stop, not panting at all. "Well?" he asked, a wild, dimpled grin splitting his handsome features. I was breathing heavily enough for both of us, letting out gasps of reckless laughter in between my pants. I planted a kiss on his cheek and jumped off his back. I took his hand and we ran at human speeds across the lawn and up the porch stairs. He pushed the door open ahead of me as I caught my breath in the sparkling light of the Cullens' impeccably decorated house. Had I really just been here a few hours ago? Had all of this with my mom and dad really happened all in one day, now seasoned with the promise of a new friend? Suddenly I felt very old and very tired.

Jasper led me to the living room, and he scooped up a few heavy books from the couch before I sat down. "What are you reading about?"

He flashed one of the covers. "The Civil War; what else?"

I made a note to ask him a question he'd just reminded me of. I heard soft footsteps approaching, and Jasper gave my hand a squeeze. As if I needed affirmation for this moment. I was born ready for this. Bella came in, her reddish-brown hair draping her shoulders. "Hi, Alice," she smiled easily.

What I did next surprised everyone, especially me. I jumped up from the couch, gave her a tight hug, and leaned up to impulsively kissed her cheek. "Hi, Bella," I sang, wishing my voice was half as lovely as hers—it matched her name, literally and metaphorically. It was beautiful, yes, and it sounded like a carillon. I could feel Jasper's astonishment flooding my system, as well as his eyes boring a hole into my back. Bella, on the other hand, looked pleasantly surprised. "Jazz, you are an overprotective fool," I muttered in annoyance. "If she was going to hurt me, I would have seen it."

I glanced over my shoulder at him. He sighed, gave me a long-suffering look, and sat down, picking up one of his books. I hoisted my bag to my shoulder and grabbed Bella's icy hand in mine. "Come on; I can't believe how little time we have until I'll probably crash!" I exclaimed. The carillon rang as she laughed. I realized that I was leading but didn't know where I was going; the hallway at the top of the stairs split, and I'd always gone to the right.

Bella read my mind and pulled me into a green-and-cream room that easily could have doubled for a literary and music library. The gentle color filtering through the soft lighting was refreshing compared to the stark, white postmodernism of the rest of the house. The room was simply adorned and surprisingly small, made even smaller by the haphazard stacks of books and CDs scattered throughout. I could peek into her closet, which, to my simultaneous disappointment and delight, was filled with plain-Jane clothes consisting mostly of plain-colored henleys and jeans with a few button downs and a few dresses. It gave me an excuse to shop, or better yet, make some clothes for her. I turned my attention to a stack of books on her desk and my eyes lit upon a very well-loved copy of _Sense and Sensibility._ "You like Jane Austen, too!" I exclaimed happily.

Bella smiled and grinned. "My favorite."

I couldn't help but smirk a little. "I thought Jane Austen was more for the hopeless and unrequited romantics—and you and Edward don't share a room," I said with scandalized and sarcastic condemnation.

She shrugged sheepishly. "Old habits die hard in reading, and Edward and I have separate rooms out of formality—we don't actually abide by that. Hey, speaking of hopeless romantics and Jane Austen, how does that explain you, Little Miss Newly-In-Love?"

I rolled my eyes at her and helped myself to her bed. "Old habits die hard," I shot back at her with a grin. "Have I mentioned that I'm really, really glad I'm here?" I giggled.

She laughed. "You have wicked moodswings; you know that? Do you have a multiple personality disorder?"

"Probably," I smirked.

She cocked her head at me. "What do you know about me?"

I pursed my lips. "I know how you were changed, and that Edward admired you from afar, and that you like people, but are shy, and that you are in sore need of a shopping trip."

She shuddered a little at the word 'shopping', and I giggled. "What do you know about me?" I asked.

Instead of answering, she asked, "Why did you come here?"

"Here, as in your house, or here, as in Forks?"

"Forks."

I sighed. "I'm surprised you don't know already, what with a mind-reading husband and all. The Cliffs Notes version is that my mom made me into her own personal Barbie and I did pageantry and modeling for a while, developed anorexia, moved here to start over and heal and get away from her. And now she's staged my death in a cataclysmic, soap-opera screw-up interview gone awry."

Bella shook her head at me with vehemence. "I don't want the Cliffs Notes version. I want the whole story."

I couldn't stop my surprise. "You mean Edward didn't tell you the whole story?"

"Contrary to popular belief," he said from the doorway, voice dripping with humor and sarcasm, "I don't eavesdrop on peoples' thoughts, nor do I dig through their brains to find their dirty little secrets." He grinned at us.

Bella and I looked at each other, back at him, and at each other. His words contradicted his words so much that we burst into laughter. He didn't even try to look confused or pretend to be ashamed. He padded into the room. "I want to hear, too, and then I'll leave. Scout's honor."

I sighed as he took a seat next to Bella on the bed. They looked at me like children waiting attentively around a campfire for a ghost story. I took a deep breath and began the story that seemed to be rolling off my tongue like quicksilver lately.

When I was finished and Edward studiously left the room with a promise not to eavesdrop any more than was accidental, Bella treated me to her own story. "What exactly did Jasper tell you about when I was human?" she asked me, bundling her hair into a bun on top of her head as she put on a sweatshirt. Did vampires get cold? I realized probably not, since coldness was a factor of body fat and heat loss from blood flow, but the comfort had to be nice. Of my limited experience with vampires, Bella was the most refreshingly human—she was undeniably stunning and graceful, as were all other vampires, and according to Jasper, she could both shield herself and others from mental powers as well as project her memories into others, but she affected human mannerisms so casually. I'd learned that such movements as shifting and blinking were learned behaviors for vampires. She seemed so comfortable with me; it was as if we were one in the same. I zoned out, apparently, for she waved her hand in front of my face. "Hello? Earth to Alice! Did you hear me?"

"Um…sorry," I felt myself blush. "I was daydreaming again. Jasper just told me you were a student at Kent State, Edward took night classes there and admired you from afar, and you were caught in the crossfire only to be turned by Carlisle, where you lived happily ever after, et cetera," I finished lamely.

She giggled. "That's so simplified."

"Well, then, fix it!" I demanded with a smile.

"Oh, gosh, where do I even start?"

"Where were you from, originally?"

What I thought would be a simple question turned into a litany of answers: hailed from Phoenix with mom Renée and stepdad Phil, moved to Ohio and to dad Charlie so mom could travel with stepdad's minor league team, favorite color brown—at that I protested loudly—felt out of place in the sixties and didn't agree or disagree with the protests of her liberal contemporaries—she was an observer not out of shyness, but out of not seeing an opportune moment or a worthy cause. She preferred a bunch of one-hit wonders over The Beatles and The Rolling Stones. She admitted to growing a healthy appreciation for The Bay City Rollers in the seventies, which stood in stark contrast to her other favorites of classical piano and Linkin Park. "That one really horrified Edward," she giggled when confessing her still-burning love for The Bay City Rollers. "He pretty much hibernated for ten years until the seventies were over."

"You can't honestly say he preferred the eighties over the seventies!" I exclaimed with genuine surprise.

She rolled her eyes. "He likes 'Total Eclipse of the Heart', of all things."

"For that matter, so do I…" I mused. She threw a pillow at my face. I caught it and leaned my chin on it, ready for the next onslaught of answers. She entertained my curiosity with surprising cheerfulness, and I answered all her questions in turn. I reveled in our differences as well as our similarities—I couldn't stand most music from the sixties except that which reminded me of my childhood, but I, too, loved The Bay City Rollers. She loved Austen, hated Louisa May Alcott, and had been read all of Laura Ingalls Wilder's books as a child, something my Grandma Bertrand had done for me. She preferred myth and legend over history, the inverse of my interests. However, like me, she was very visual and detail-oriented, which came out in writing, though my outlets were more aesthetic. The Q&A came to an end all too soon for my liking. At 3:00 I knew if I didn't go to sleep, my body would seriously betray me. Meanwhile, Bella was looking bright as a bluebird. Stupid vampires and their immortality, I thought petulantly.

I yawned profoundly. In a manner I was discovering to be typical of her character, she took the blame for my tiredness. "I'm sorry; I should have made you go to bed earlier," she smiled apologetically.

"That's okay," I stifled another yawn, digging pajamas and a toiletry pouch out of my bag. "Hey, why do you have beds? Are they props?"

She shrugged. "I suppose so…Emmett and Rosalie put _their _bed to use…" I giggled. "Myself, I like having a bed because I can rest. Just because I can't physically sleep doesn't mean I don't like being comfortable and inert and thoughtless for a while," she finished. That sounded lovely, but I wanted my bed to have deeper meaning just now.

I popped my contacts out, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and made an on-a-whim decision not to return to Bella's. Instead I veered off in the opposite direction toward Jasper's. The room was empty, but I didn't care. In the dark I slid into bed, pulling the downy comforter over my shoulders. I was standing on the precipice of unconscious bliss when I felt someone slither into bed beside me, and a pair of strong arms snuggled me up against a stony chest. "Hello," I said groggily, rolling over to face him.

"Good morning," Jasper said amusedly.

"May we call it 'good morning' after I've been asleep for a while?" I asked, trying to keep the pitiful overtones out of my voice. To my great annoyance, I seemed to require more sleep than anyone else my age. Running on four hours or no hours at all wasn't something I did much of anymore.

"Of course," he smiled, bringing his lips to my hair gently. When he pulled back, I noticed his eyes seemed more liquid and bright; they were almost luminescent.

"I hunted while you were talking," he explained.

"Your eyes weren't dark before."

"I know," he said drily, "but I'm doing well with this so far—I'd rather be a glutton than make a mistake."

Bella had said that Edward was surprised at how candid Jasper was about his thirst for my blood, and I assumed 'surprised' was a synonym for 'angry'. But I appreciated that aspect of Jasper. He didn't try to hide who he was. Instead of feeling shameful, he worked to overcome it. He was honest. I smiled up at him. "I thank you with my life," I said as clearly and drily as possible, annoyed at the lethargy of my mind and body.

He rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep, Alice."

"As good as done," I replied, rolling back over and pressing my back into his chest.

He moved his fingers to work through my hair, lulling me even further into fog. "Hey, Alice?"

"What?" I mumbled.

"I love you."

The three words hung in the air. I knew them, of course, and I felt them constantly—Jasper and I had a very mental relationship. But hearing them was almost as nice as knowing the truth of the words. "Love you too," I murmured, and I released my hold on the cliff of consciousness.


	13. Unexpected

Unexpected

I woke with a start the next morning, and the first thing I noticed was the light filtering through the curtains. It was entirely too bright for the normal cloud cover. Furthermore, I was in my own bed. I sat up completely and looked around for an explanation as to what I'd missed when I was sleeping, and then I noticed the clock. I sprang out of bed, ran to my closet, and started digging for rainboots. "May I ask what you are doing?" an amused voice asked behind me.

I jumped and dropped the pair of heels in my hand. I rounded behind me; Jasper had assumed his typical position on my bed. "First, why am I home? Second, how did I get here? Third, why didn't someone wake me up for school?! Do you know what time it is?!" my voice sounded a lot shriller than I meant it to.

"Because I didn't know when your dad would be back; I drove; your dad did, but you should take a look outside; and yes, it's 9:30," he answered cheekily.

I walked to the window and threw the curtains to the side, only to catch my breath. The light was so much brighter because the entire world was covered in snow, beautifully light, fluffy snow. "Your dad woke you up to tell you he was going to work, you sort of answered, and then you fell back asleep," Jasper remarked conversationally.

"Snow day?" I turned back to him excitedly.

"You bet," he grinned. And then a ball of ice hit me in the face and turned back to powder.

"Jasper!" I shrieked as I wiped my face. He was shaking in silent laughter. I turned and marched down the stairs. I heard him call after me, but I ignored him. I opened the front door, and without taking a step onto the porch, scooped some snow into my hand. I formed it into a tight ball, adding more until it was just barely small enough to fit in my hands. I shut the door behind me, crept back upstairs with my hands behind my back, and peeked in my room. I knew I wasn't going to completely catch him by surprise, what with the empathy-link and the supersonic hearing, but I figured I'd do what I could. I snapped my arm back and threw a fastpitch square into his jaw. He sat up, but not in time to stop the ice shattering over his face. He stared at me, open-mouthed with shock. It was my turn to dissolve into laughter, but mine was loud and boisterous as I slumped against the doorframe for support.

All of the sudden I found myself flat on my back on my bed. Jasper hovered over me in a manner that he probably thought was menacing. "Bet you think that's real funny, don't you?" he growled.

I giggled. "Of course."

He tilted his head in mock thought. "I'll show _you_ funny," he said, and he ran an icy finger up my side. It was a thousand times worse than being tickled outright. I could barely breathe, and of course Jasper was enjoying himself immensely. Thankfully, before I completely lost it, I noticed the time again and slid out from under him.

"_Pardonnes-moi," _I quipped, "but if you don't mind, I have to shower. I have things to do today." I was trying to get around the fact that I was hiding my feelings from my dream.

He nodded. "Take your time. Where are you going?"

"Well, in about forty-five minutes, Kate is going to call to ask if I want to go shopping in Port Angeles for a winter formal dance dress _before_ Black Friday, and she'll want to go a little after lunch, and I don't like to keep people waiting," I hedged. It wasn't a lie. I picked out a green sweater and jeans. "Will you be here when I come back?" I asked.

He smiled, tilting his head upward. "Where else would I be?"

I groaned. "Stop that."

His eyes opened wide. "Stop what?" he said innocently.

"Stop being so damn likeable," I growled. I shut the bathroom door on his laughter and relished the hot water beating rhythmically on my scalp and down my back. I closed my eyes as I moved to massage the shampoo into my hair, conjuring up images of last night. I knew my visions were subjective and depended on other peoples' decisions, but I saw these in my hand. Plane tickets. Two for the departure, two for the return. My full name clearly emblazoned across them. I shivered. I'd know soon enough if it was real or not. I stepped out of the shower, slid into my robe, and rubbed my head with a towel vigorously. I took the shears out of the medicine cabinet and set to work on my hair, partly in preparation for my possible excursion and partly because it needed it. I went a little shorter this time, between my chin and shoulders, with more layers. I finished getting ready just as the phone rang, right on schedule.

I grabbed the phone off the tiny table at the top of the stairs. "Hey Alice, it's Kate. Are you having a nice snow day?"

I giggled. "I got to sleep in late; of course I am. I haven't actually been outside in it."

"Well, do you mind going outside in it? I wanted to hit scout out winter formals options in Port Angeles before the post-Thanksgiving rush," she said.

"It involves shopping! I'd love to go!" I exclaimed.

"Great! I hope you don't mind, but Elizabeth volunteered to drive. Her car is the most snow-worthy, I think," she apologized. She knew that for whatever reason, my relationship with Elizabeth was bittersweet at best, but we weren't outwardly hostile with each other, and in fact, I couldn't recall ever being less than nice to her.

"That's fine with me. Where should I meet you, and when are you leaving?"

"How about 12:30 and how about we come get you?" she offered.

"That's fine with me; see you soon!" I hung the phone back up and trotted back to my room.

"Where are you going?" Jasper asked when I'd nestled into my chair by the window. I noticed he'd leafed through my iPod and plugged it into the small stereo on my desk; he'd surprised me by picking some of my gentler piano music.

"I'm going shopping with Kate and Elizabeth," I replied.

He turned the full force of his amber eyes on me in a way that was completely unfair. It was downright crippling. "No, Alice, I mean 'where are you going' as in, 'what are you hiding.'"

I sighed and looked at him out of the corner of my eyes. "Biloxi."

I expected an outburst. I expected pleading, anger, disbelief, or some outward expression of emotions. Contemplative silence was not on my list of expectations. I sat there for about a minute before I huffed a sigh and said, "Well?"

"Well what?" he replied, looking at me casually.

"Well…" I hadn't expected to get that far. "What do you think?" I was lame as hell sometimes.

"How do you _know_ you're going to Biloxi?" he asked, a challenging new fire in his eyes.

"I saw it," I defended.

"How do your visions work, exactly?"

"That's the thing; they're not exact. I see things that may or may not happen. They depend on other people as much as they depend on me. If someone changes his or her mind, then that vision will disappear. Another will take its place the next time I have one."

"What did you see, exactly?"

"I saw my dad coming through the door with a few printouts in his hand, and he handed me the packet. It was stapled e-check-in receipts for airline tickets leaving for Biloxi tomorrow morning. If he actually buys the tickets, I'm going to leave from Seattle at 6:30 tomorrow morning, have a layover in Atlanta, and get to the Gulfport airport at 4:30 eastern time. I'll be back Sunday."

"Does this mean you _h_aveto go?" he said tensely.

"Well, no, not exactly…although if I didn't use the tickets, assuming Dad buys them, he'd be pretty mad. For him to get tickets the day before Thanksgiving and at the very last possible minute must have cost him an arm and a leg," I retorted.

Jasper sighed and didn't say anything for a few minutes. He looked at me with surprising harshness. "Why are you doing this, Alice? Why are you going back there?" he said angrily.

"I don't know," I said quietly.

"You don't…you don't know?"

"Not exactly…" I hedged. "I hadn't gotten that far…"

"So let me get this straight," he said with new and deadly calm. "You're going to fly halfway across the country by yourself the day before a major holiday to a mother who abandoned you and a sister who loves you but not as much as she loves herself, and you don't even know what you're going to do when you get there? Why don't you just walk into a lion's den covered in blood and catnip? I'm sure your odds would be better there," he spat, his butterscotch eyes flaming, nostrils flaring, chiseled jaw stuck firmly outward.

I felt anger—mine and his both—rise up within me. I stood from my chair. "Things aren't finished between me and her, Jasper. You know they aren't," I said slowly, controlling my words.

"What's left to finish?! She only faked your death—nothing big," he said sarcastically.

"Am I supposed to just leave it at that? Am I supposed to just let her win? Or am I supposed so sit around and let my dad incur huge legal fees while he fights my battles for me? Why does everyone think I'm a little girl? I'm not a little girl anymore!" I cried. I hadn't felt so angry in a long time. It was beautifully and terribly intoxicating.

"No one thinks you're a little girl, Alice. But _why_ are you doing this?" his voice cracked. He, too, stood from his position on my bed.

"To stand up for myself for once in my life!" I cried out, my voice cracking, too. "I've got to prove to her that I'm stronger and better than she is and that not only am I not taking this shit from her anymore, but that the stupid, immature part of me still thinks that a part of that girl she used to be is in there, and I'm not letting her take out her pain on me or anyone else in this whole damn world another day." My voice was shaking.

"I just have a question," Jasper said. The deadly calm was back in his voice. "Was someone holding a gun to your head in your vision, telling you that you _had_ to go to Biloxi?"

"No." I locked eyes with him defiantly.

"And you're going anyway?" His eyes smoldered right back.

"Yes."

"Now you're being a little girl, Alice."

I wasn't going to call names because I'd regret them as soon as I unleashed them. I didn't really believe them, anyway. "Doing what is easy and doing what is right isn't the same thing," I declared, planting my hands firmly on my hips. "Oh, and Jasper?" I broke in before he had a chance to respond.

"Yes?"

I smiled. "Kiss me."

He grinned at me roguishly. "Yes, ma'am." And boy, did he ever comply. He wrapped one hand around my waist and tilted my chin up with the other, his icy marbled lips parting mine. My heart accelerated to dangerous levels as my breath hitched in my chest. If I had my way, I would spend most of my free time kissing Jasper. Unfortunately, that sort of behavior wasn't often tolerated. That didn't stop me from wishing in a far-off corner of my brain that today would be my lucky day. Luck wasn't my lady, though I was still breathless. Jasper pulled away reluctantly and studied me thoughtfully. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

I truly did think about it for a minute. "No. Wait, wouldn't you know if I had?"

He rolled his eyes. "Just because I can eavesdrop doesn't mean I do it all the time…besides, don't humans lie about their emotions sometimes, even to themselves?"

"Why just humans? Don't vampires lie, too?" I challenged.

"Yes," he conceded. "Are you bothered that I'm not afraid to show that I'm angry?"

"As long as it doesn't result in my bodily harm"—he grimaced at me—"then I don't care if you're angry or not."

He grinned at me. "Edward's going to be _horrified._ I can't wait to mentally shout this one in his direction."

A frown creased my brow. "Edward? What's he got to do with it?"

"Edward likes you, you know, and assumes some level of responsibility for you. He's worried, for your sake, that I'm…oh, I don't know…that I'm not easy enough on you." I raised an eyebrow at him. He attempted to clarify. "Edward overestimates the fragility of humans, and he thinks I underestimate it."

"May I borrow your phone, please?" I asked sweetly.

"Of course," he said confusedly, fumbling in his pocket.

I quickly navigated down to 'E' under Contacts and hit Call. Edward answered on the second ring. "Hey, Jazz, you haven't forgotten about—"

"Hello, Edward, this is Alice."

"Oh! Good morning, Alice; is everything all right?" he asked fluidly.

"Oh, yes. Everything is perfectly fine. Jasper and I had a minor argument here about a trip to Biloxi involving myself that may or may not occur, and he told me something quite interesting about you being concerned about his treatment of me, and I'd like to assure you that I am, in fact, quite sturdy and _not_ made out of porcelain. If Jasper ever seriously hurts my feelings, I give you my full permission to beat the fire out of him, but until then, I appreciate your brotherly concern—now butt out and mind your own damn business! Thank you, and have a nice day!" I ended cheerfully, hitting End before he could fit in a word.

Jasper stared at me slack-jawed as I slipped the slim silver phone back into his hand. Finally, he broke into laughter. "You're one of a kind, Alice Brandon. Are you _sure_ I have to share you today?"

I groaned. "Aren't girls supposed to be the ones who make puppy eyes?"

Laughter swelled in his chest as he headed down the stairs. "I've got a bet to settle with Emmett anyways. Have a nice shopping trip; I'm forever obliged that you're not making me go with you!" I stuck my tongue out at him when the door shut behind him. I used the time left over to select something more energizing from my iPod and pack a bag for Mississippi just in case. I expected the weather to be humid, mild, and dry, and I was surprised to find that I was looking forward to a change, though the snow was half-gone in the midmorning patchy sun. I'd just finished getting some clothes out of the dryer when the doorbell rang. I frowned; I wasn't expecting Kate and Elizabeth for another half hour, but I answered the door anyway.

"I hope you don't mind," Kate smiled sweetly, "but Liz knows a great place for lunch in Port Angeles."

I slid into my coat, jammed a beret on my head, and grabbed my purse, locking the door behind me. "Lead on," I grinned. Even Elizabeth was happy to see me today. Maybe I'd imagined her coldness toward me, I thought as I slid in the backseat of the old Jeep Cherokee. My excitement increased with every mile. We sang along to all the new songs on the radio, half of which I'll admit I didn't really know. The drive passed surprisingly quickly, and not just because Elizabeth had a lead foot. She pulled into a narrow municipal parking lot and we walked across the street to a tiny sidewalk café sort of place. The walls were butterscotch yellow and covered in artwork from local artists. The menu was both eclectic and familiar, and everything was organic, free range, fair trade, locally grown, recycled, et cetera. I was pleasantly surprised. "Liz, this is usually my kind of place, not yours," I remarked.

She grinned, shaking her dark red hair off her face. "I have a confession to make."

"Do tell," I said, taking a hearty sip of my orange tea, which warmed me to my toes.

She, Kate, and I all leaned closer in to each other, like Elizabeth was about to divulge some big secret. "Morgan is a total bitch…but Kate's been my friend since, like, birth."

Wow…was that sort of like renouncing the dark side? I was extremely curious and cautious. I didn't know Elizabeth well at all, so my first thought was wondering what was in this for her. But Kate was grinning cutely from ear to ear, so I figured it was genuine. I realized then just how much I missed this—just being a girl and doing girly things. Between last night with Bella and now this, I realized that I hadn't had this in a long, long time—like when I was about thirteen and my mom wasn't quite crazy yet. She and Cynthia and I used to go on huge shopping trips in Baton Rouge and spend the whole summer in Louisiana on Tante Chantal and Uncle Jacques's duck camp/cabin property. It wasn't at all that I didn't love Jasper or my dad or Jacob or Edward or the boys at school, but I was around all of them all of the time. Being with girls—being in my natural element, plus shopping—made for a great day. I could just feel it.

We descended upon a boutique that specialized in formal wear. Its clothes were adorable—Kate found a sugar pink, strapless dress with a tulle bell skirt that looked incredible on her, but not for our teenage budgets. Kate cast longing looks at the dress as we left the shop for one a little ways further down the street that specialized in _resale_ formal wear. The dresses in the window worried me, because they looked like ransacked victims of Molly Ringwald's closet, but the inside looked promising. It had variety at the very least. I could tell Elizabeth was a little overwhelmed at the disorganization of the store, though. She clutched my arm and wailed, "You have _got_ to help me! I already looked at the mall and all the other stores, so this is sort of my last option, and nobody can let me borrow one of their dresses because everyone is bigger, smaller, or shorter than me!"

I rubbed her arm. "Don't worry, I can find something," I said patiently, "and even if we find something that doesn't look perfect at first glance, just remember you can always alter it."

She stared at me like this had never occurred to her before. "Really?" she breathed.

"Sure! I turned the sweater I'm wearing out of a sweater I found in my grandmother's basement," I said.

"Wow…I don't know if I could ever do that," she said doubtfully.

"I'll help you," I offered, but we were cut short by Kate, who scampered over to us with a dress already on. When had she found time to change? It looked like it was made for her. It was both cute and fun, in a 1984-sort of way. The dress, with a sweetheart neckline and the same poofy skirt she liked on the other dress down the street, was black with a dusty pink lace detailing the skirt, straps, and bodice. "Kate! That looks like it was made for you," I exclaimed.

She blushed happily. "You've got to get it," Elizabeth said firmly.

"And we've got to get the two of you something to wear," Kate said. I already had a dress to wear, but I never minded helping other people. Who said vicarious thrills were bad?

I set to work peeling through racks until I found an emerald green dress made out of taffeta; it had a coppery gold backweave so the fabric shimmered in the light. The neckline and hemline were both asymmetrical in a daring way, and Elizabeth loved it and declared me a genius of fashion. I would be lying if I didn't say I was pleased. The trip ended shortly after that; Kate had agreed to cook dinner that night for her family, and I probably needed to cook for my old man, too. "Ali, there's a _boy_ on your porch!" Kate exclaimed from her vantage point in the front seat as we neared my house.

"Is it a Jasper Hale sort of boy, or a different sort?" I joked.

"Not a Cullen or Hale, but he looks sort of familiar," Kate said definitively. I peered out the window at the distant figure; I was ninety-nine percent sure it was Jacob. I got out of the car with them giggling about my love life and threatening to tell Jasper. I jogged across the yard, and Jacob hopped up from his seated position.

"Hey, Jake, what brings you here?" I asked.

"Well, your dad was at my house last night ranting about his ex-wife," he said sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah, that. Do you know about it, or do I need to fill you in?"

"No, no, I'm good. Actually, I'm here because I finished my car"—I took notice of the VW Rabbit in the driveway—"and my dad is worried sick about _your_ dad."

"My dad? Why?" I frowned.

"Well, he didn't show up for work today," Jacob said, his coal-black eyes probing mine.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Where is he?"

"That's the problem; he's not answering his phone, so we have no clue where he is."

I felt sick as Jake continued. "The deputy looked us up after they tried to call over here and didn't get an answer, either. You didn't answer your cell, and we don't have your cell number, so them calling us was the next thing to do…" he trailed off.

I wanted to smack myself for leaving the house. It's not that I would have had anything to report if I had been here to answer the phone, and I knew that. "Why don't you come inside, Jake," I said weakly, and he squeezed my shoulders tightly. I chuckled inwardly at the bitter ironies of my next action—cooking in the wake of a potential catastrophe, just like my mother, her mother, her mother, and so on. While the pinnacle of my cooking expertise—frozen pizza—toasted in the oven, I reached into my bag for my phone. I couldn't find it anywhere, which could explain why I never answered when the deputy called. I went upstairs into my room and searched, but it was clean and revealed nothing. "Jake, do you see my phone lying around anywhere?" I asked, coming back into the living room.

"What does it look like?"

"White, phone-shaped, smallish, slider phone with texting keyboard," I said lamely, but just then it surfaced in his hand as he pulled it from between the couch cushions. Sure enough, I had five missed calls from the deputy and twice as many from Billy, but none from my dad. I quickly punched in Carlisle's number, praying he wasn't in a surgery. He answered on the first ring. "What can I do for you, Alice?" he asked cheerfully.

"Carlisle, you haven't had any tall, lumberjack-like men with curly black hair and brown eyes come in, have you?"

"No, it's been an unusually quiet day. Is something wrong?" his fatherly voice held concern.

"Yeah, my dad is missing," I said with false calm.

"Oh, my. Well, I can assure you he hasn't come to the hospital, nor have we received reports with anyone matching his description, but I'll keep an eye out. Try not to worry too much, Alice. Your father is a smart man; I'm sure he'll be back soon," Carlisle said cryptically. I was getting really frustrated with other people seemingly having sixth senses. Some psychic I was. I didn't even see my own dad's disappearance. Jake and I ate garlic-chicken-with-extra-cheese pizza and played Monopoly. It was really cheesy, but it was a nice brother-and-sister thing to do, and it did distract me, which was Jake's intent. He didn't stay long; he'd just gotten his license, and Billy didn't want him driving after dark. I settled for watching a movie and calling Jasper, but his phone went straight to voicemail. I considered for one wild minute to call my mother, but then remembered that I was saving my poison for her in a few days and my dad would never call her even on a good day.

Thirty minutes into _Atonement,_ I fell asleep on the couch, greeted by unsettling, half-finished dreams that didn't make sense. They left my mind completely when I was awoken by the slamming of the kitchen door. I shot up and dashed to the kitchen. Dad was hanging up his holster and shrugging out of his coat. Deep purple circles hugged his tired eyes, and his five o'clock shadow was prominent. I wrapped my arms fiercely around his middle, relieved at finding him alive and free of injury. I released him just as quickly as I'd grabbed him, taking a deep breath to begin the verbal outpouring of my fury at his irresponsibility. He held up a finger to stop me. "Not now, Ali, honey, please," he said wearily. "I should have called, yeah, I know, and half the town is mad at me, and it was stupid, yeah, yeah. I'm not sixteen, but I guessed I behaved like I was." He lumbered into the living room and sat down with a thump in his chosen armchair.

"Will you enlighten me as to what you were doing when you were pretending to be sixteen?" I asked kindly, keeping the edginess out of my voice.

"I drove, mostly. Drove halfway to Portland, felt like. And then I made a big circle and came back on the Olympic Highway up to Seattle, where I made a decision." I had a feeling I knew what was coming next. "I went to the airport and managed to swing something real last minute, so if you don't want to do this, I'd understand. I'd be pretty annoyed, because it wasn't real cheap, but I'd understand, at least." He went back into the kitchen, rummaged in his coat pocket, and pulled out a flight envelope, which he handed to me. I opened it, and sure enough, it contained tickets to and from Biloxi by way of Atlanta, with my name printed boldly on each one. "I decided that you should talk to her, Alice. You've got the fire in you enough to do it, and if you could somehow talk a confession out of her with an ironclad promise to give that same confession to all the right people in the newspapers, well, it would be a lot cheaper than a court case, not to mention a lot less stressful," he said sheepishly. "So what do you say?" The little rays of hope breaking over his face made him look fifteen years younger. His doe eyes pleaded with me.

"Already packed," I smiled softly.

"Oh, right…let me guess, you dreamed, right?" Dad was one of the only people who knew about and believed in my occasional clairvoyance.

"Mmhmm," I hummed. I assured him that it wouldn't be a big deal missing Thanksgiving, he assured me he'd spend it with the Blacks and the Clearwaters, and I promised if I had trouble I'd first call and then go to Baton Rouge to Tante Chantal's and Uncle Jacques's. I could still tell that he felt very, very guilty about sending me out there, now that he'd had time to think about it. I knew that I'd do whatever I could to make the trip worth his worry. I went upstairs early but knew that sleeping meant little. It was ten, and Dad wanted to leave no later than two for the three-ish hour drive to Seattle. No planes ran from Port Angeles to Seattle that early in the morning. Jasper wasn't in my room, but a note from him was. For the first time, I connected his distinctively spidery handwriting with the notes that accompanied my makeup work when I had the flu a few months ago, and I smiled.

_The bet I had to settle with Emmett was over whether or not we'd ever fight, get angry at each other, or disagree. Emmett said no; I said yes. He was surprised, but I know myself better than that. I know you were annoyed with Edward, but I can understand where he's coming from, from an outsider's stance. But do you want to know the real reason why I'm not bothered that we got angry and why I'm not as easy on you as Edward thinks I should be? It's because I know you're tough. You're a born fighter. I love that about you, and because of that, I know you can handle anything in your path—including me not catering to all of your opinions. You won't be able to call me while you're gone. Carlisle has just announced we are going to visit friends in northern Alaska. But rest assured that I love you and know you can do this. Even if you can't physically call me, if you need me, I'll know it. Wherever you are, I'll find you._

When Zeus created Ares, had he intended for his son to have a soft side—or for that matter, be capable of loving? Sure, Ares had loved Aphrodite, but she was the goddess of love. She could have made him. I definitely didn't make Jasper love me. In my mind, that made me deserve it more. Maybe I was wrong, but I didn't feel the same awestruck hero worship 'I'm-not-worthy' crap that people in love often felt. Maybe that was because I'd seen Jasper and knew he'd be mine. There wasn't much doubt. Or maybe I was just selfish because in my heart of hearts I believed that after everything else, at the end of the day, I deserved to be the happiest girl alive.


	14. Ultimatum

Ultimatum

I dozed and daydreamed alternately, hoping that between the two, I'd get a better idea of what would happen, but I didn't see anything. I could understand why—my mom didn't know I was coming, and I didn't know what I was going to say, so no decisions had been made other than me actually going there. Finally I dressed and packed a small carry-on totebag with my obligatory camera, few makeup items, and three books, one for English and two for pleasure. Thanks to my Girl Scout-instilled packing method, I was able to fit everything into a small duffel that would fit in the overheads. I wondered if Dad was really fit to drive; he looked no better than he had the night before, but he had downed the first of many cups of coffee already when we got in the car. An entire carafe sat wedged between us in the cruiser. Mostly I tuned Dad out. Neither of us was terribly verbose with each other, and I wanted him to concentrate, given how early it was. I closed my eyes and drifted to half-sleep to the strains of the Avett Brothers, who I found myself listening to more and more. They were one of Jasper's favorite bands, and they'd charmed me, too. I'd heard him strumming 'Swept Away' a few days ago, but he had an endearing self-consciousness about playing in front of people and stopped as soon as he became aware I was listening outside the door.

We stopped before reaching the Seattle city limits for some breakfast, and I burst out laughing when I noticed where we were. It was one of those 24-hour waffle joints that you knew served more than waffles, but anything other than waffles couldn't be trusted. It was the sort of place truckers inhabited in my mind—I felt overdressed. Dad defensively said that if I'd never had one, I couldn't judge. He was right. I treated myself to a chocolate chip waffle, even though I knew I'd regret it. Yet its buttery, chocolate-y softness melted in my mouth and required no syrup. It was perfect. The coffee, however, was strong enough to strip paint off asphalt.

Dad paused again when we pulled up in front of Departures. "You're not having second thoughts?" he asked anxiously.

"Are _you?"_

"No, I just don't want you to feel like I'm making you."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. "Relax, Dad. I'll be just fine."

He sighed. "You always are."

As the silver bullet barreled eastward, I watched the sunrise from the belly of the plane. Only now, halfway to Atlanta, did the doubt demons jump out at me. _Crazy,_ they said, _stupid, crazy, and suicidal all-in-one._ I wasn't sure what I was expecting or what I wanted to accomplish. I knew this certainly wasn't going to go the way of _Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood._ If I got a confession out of her, I would consider myself eligible for the Nobel Peace Prize. Expecting more out of her would be impossible, and receiving it unexpectedly would be too much to handle. I shook my head quickly to clear it and cracked open the book for my next reading assignment, but I quickly lost focus. Reading about Carl Jung and animas, daemons, shadows, and all other components of the human psyche just added to my jumble of thoughts. I dozed off until we reached Atlanta, hoping that a rested mind would make for a more enjoyable experience.

Of course, the plane was late in coming, and naturally, I landed in the last gate of one concourse and had to connect in the last gate of the furthest concourse. And I was in the busiest airport in the entire world. I hitched my duffel across my body, held my tote tight to my shoulder, and sprinted, weaving breakneck through a sea of bodies and squeezing into the People Mover at the last possible second. I made it onto my plane with seconds to spare, out of breath and embarrassed at the impatient stares of the passengers on the full plane. I slumped into my seat, which, as I'd expected, was next to a rather large business man with too many class rings and who thought my tray table was fair game for whatever he was working on. I tried not to mind too much and opened one of my pleasure books, one about World War II. It seemed I'd barely had time to open it before the plane landed again, and without even a thought, my head palpitated, but I wasn't afraid. I was sure of myself. This was absolutely necessary in the highest sense.

I paid an ungodly high cab fare to a cabby who complained vehemently at the distance. I didn't tip him. I felt shaky as I pulled out the nearly-forgotten house key from the pocket of my jeans, but a quick survey told me nobody was home. The calendar still on the fridge told me that they were at some dinner. For someone who was supposed to be dead, I was surprised in a way that probably pleased me too much to see pictures of me still hanging. My room was unchanged; my furniture remained in its place along with the few possessions I hadn't taken with me. The baby grand piano was still in the living room and still in tune, which astonished me, since it wasn't cheap and I was the only one who played. It felt like it'd been an eternity since I'd played. I'd never played the piano at the Cullens'. Edward hadn't explicitly said I couldn't play it, but he hadn't given me permission, and I didn't want to intrude on something that was special to him. I'm sure if he knew how I'd felt, he'd let me play, but I took advantage of the opportunity in front of me. The sounds swirling around me calmed me and put me at ease. By the time I felt like my impromptu melody was at an end, I felt ready for whatever happened next.

I seated myself on the couch in the den, pulled out a book, and waited. I didn't have to wait terribly long. My heart accelerated to a dangerously thunderous pace, blood thrummed in my ears, and I turned nauseous with adrenaline at the sound of the door into the kitchen from the garage opened. Mom was at the tail end of telling Cynthia something, so she didn't notice me right away, but Cynthia zeroed right in. "Ali!" she cried, running to me and throwing her arms around my neck with surprising strength. She planted two impetuous kisses on my cheeks. "Ali, I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she whispered in my ear. My mother cleared her throat, and Cynthia slid away like a shamed puppy.

Our matching green eyes met and held. We watched each other cautiously, and I was dimly aware that Cynthia's eyes were flickering back and forth between the two of us, like she was trying to understand a telepathic conversation that wasn't actually happening. "Well," Mom said at last.

I waved the flat rate envelope that I'd brought with me in front of her. All my grace was gone. I had a massive seismic shift and let sheer instinct take over. "Yes, I suppose 'well' is all you have right to say," I said caustically. "So imagine for a minute that you lived your whole life with a woman who was erratic at best, whom you knew was a good person, but who never let it show because she was too wrapped up in what she wanted to do and what she thought the world owed her. Things progress smoothly for roughly seventeen years, except for the part where the mother puts so much pressure upon you that you starve yourself into a coma. Then you move in with your father, after a relatively tearful farewell from your mother that seems genuine, and you find everything you ever wanted. One little mistake made from an outsider, and _bam,_ your mother cuts you out of your life."

She made no motion to speak, so I went on. I felt fire now. "I'm not even going to pretend like I understand you, and frankly, I don't care to. I'm settling this one for myself because you can't be the spoiled princess who thinks the whole damn world owes her something anymore. I understand some guy in France broke your heart all those years ago"—she flinched—"but it was _easily_ twenty-five years ago—he's not going to ride in on a white horse any time soon, or ever. You have had so many wonderful opportunities, you could have had a happy life, you have two beautiful, intelligent, independently thinking daughters"—I knew I was stretching 'independently thinking' to apply to Cyn, but I figured she might surprise me someday—"but instead you've spent your entire life torturing us _and _my dad just because you can't let something die."

Her face was strangely vacant. I wasn't done yet. I took a deep breath and continued. "I've found so much in Forks, Mom. I've made some terrific, genuine friends. Dad and I are so much alike that living together is easy, and he's a fantastic father…not that I had a chance to know that before now, since you've painted the X on his back my whole life, even though all he did was worship the ground you walked on. I even found a boyfriend who loves me and understands me. He's smart, charming, and real. Even better, he's not a big, important society member like Ben, but at least he doesn't hit me!" I knew that was sort of a low blow; my mom had really pushed for me and my former boyfriend to stay together, but had she known he had abusive tendencies, she would have been outraged.

"As if that weren't enough, he has the most loving, complete family I've ever seen. His dad is my doctor and has gotten me to love myself, and I can usually eat without beating myself for it. His mother…well…she loves me. She's proud of me. She praises me for academic success—did you know that I could graduate in December next year? Oh, no, you didn't, because even though, believe it or not, I was on the track to actually talking to you at regular intervals and coaxing out of you the person that I _know_ exists, you decided to accept hearsay and literally cut me out of your life. But the pictures and my room show that it's not as easy as you thought, is it? You can live with just one kidney, but you can't ever forget that you used to have two. You didn't just hurt me, Mom. You broke the law. And if you don't learn how to suck it up for once in your godforsaken life, go to the press, and admit that you weren't just wrong but that you outright lied, not only will I do it for you, but Dad and I will take you to court, and you won't win."

I was done. My face was on fire, my breath was ragged, and I felt a sick intoxication from the adrenaline. Cynthia was staring at me, gray eyes wide and mouth wide open, pretty face clearly shocked and impressed. _I_ was impressed that my mom hadn't interrupted me. In fact, she looked…defeated. She broke her staring contest with me and lowered her eyes. She took a deep breath of her own and looked at both of us. "I need to go. I need to think. I'm going now. I'll be back eventually. Cynthia, make Alice something to eat." She practically ran out the door.

Cynthia and I stared at each other. Neither of us really felt like eating, but she called and ordered delivery Chinese, which we ate on her bed. "So…where did all this go wrong?" she asked, getting straight to the point.

"Remember that interview you told me about for _Seventeen_? The interviewer took some things about me grossly out of context."

"So you didn't actually say that stuff?"

"Shit, Cynthia, of course not. I was mad at Mom, and I'm pretty much always mad at her, but I don't hate her. I would never intentionally hurt her."

"Until today."

I took a long drag of my tea. "I didn't mean to…I got angry. So angry. Angry because I always wanted so much more than she was willing or able to give, but I never understood—and still don't—why she couldn't. And what made it more unfair, what was worse than her making her pain into my pain, was that it made me angry at you, too."

"Me? Why?" she said innocently.

"Because she loves you more."

She looked at me far too seriously for a fifteen-year-old. "So not true. She talked about you all the time when you left. She was really upset, Ali."

"She always treated you so much…I don't know, _better_ than she treated me."

Cyn sighed and cut a hunk of sweet-and-sour pork with the edge of her fork. "You know something, Alice? I have always been so insanely jealous of you."

My face scrunched up. "Me? Jealous of me? You, jealous of me? Why? Hello, you look like a supermodel and you're only fifteen, not even. You're bubbly and precious and you like other people and you're Little Miss Social Butterfly and you have all these people skills I don't have."

"Oh, you have them, you just never used them."

"Okay, but still…I don't have an advantage over you in this, Cyn."

"Yes, you do," she nodded adamantly. "I have always been jealous of you because you have so much natural talent. If you were just good at piano, that would be one thing. But you take killer pictures, do things with clothes that I'd never even think of, you can do all those crafty things that Tante Chantal tried to teach us. And you're smart. So smart."

"Cynthia, you have the voice of, like, a freaking _seraph_ or something," I pointed out, "and you're smart, too. You really are. You're every bit as smart as me, but you never use it, ever, and so you don't think you've got it. Why do you read all those crap gossip magazines, anyway?"

She looked down guiltily. "Because other people do."

"Okay, see? That's the only problem—you've got to learn that you can't be your own person and be a lemming, too. You can have your own interests and talents and risk possibly being alone, or at the very least having fewer or less popular friends, but if you have the strength to do that, you'll be so much happier, and the rewards will be enormous," I said, grabbing her hand.

She looked up at me and smiled. "It must be true. _You_ have a _boyfriend."_

"Is that a jab?"

She blushed. "No! It's just that not even_ I_ have a boyfriend…"

I laughed easily. "Okay, that's totally a jab, but I'm okay with that."

"What's he look like?"

"See for yourself," I grinned, pulling an envelope of some of my most recent prints out of my bag of tricks.

She thumbed through the pictures, and I was impressed at how careful she was. She paid close attention even to the landscapes and details. She paused at the picture I took on the ferry of him smiling over his shoulder at me. "Wow," she breathed, dragging it out again. "Just…wow…_damn,_ Alice."

I wanted to gloat. So badly. The urge was almost impossible to squash. "Yeah, he's pretty great," I said humbly. "What's even more annoying is that his whole family looks that good, and they're not even related by blood. Jasper and his siblings are adopted."

"Jasper? That's his name? Hmm, I like it…kinda old-fashioned…kinda like you." I liked that a lot.

"Jasper Hale," I said, thinking that I didn't know his middle name or if he had one. The pictures were out of order, and next was a series of portraits I'd done of the rest of his family. I was lucky and had done what I'd wanted to do: I captured each of them _doing_ something. I loved when people smiled in pictures, but only if it was genuine, not posed. I'd managed to get them all doing something they loved, and then I let them smile for me. I described each of them and our feelings toward each other as Cynthia flipped through each picture. She paused on the picture of Bella, squealing over how pretty she was. Bella was special. I spent a long time on my description of her. Cynthia also spent a long time poring over the picture of Edward, and she was extremely disappointed when I told her he was most definitely not available.

She flipped to the picture of us taken in the gardens, where I was laughing so hard and he was grinning down at me in that awestruck way. She didn't say anything, she just stared. She looked up at me at last and said quietly, "You really did hate it here, didn't you? I mean, Mom seriously made you really unhappy, didn't she? And living in a town named after an eating utensil really fixed it all?"

I snorted. "Mom didn't necessarily make me unhappy. Don't get me wrong, she didn't help, but she didn't force this on me. I didn't learn how to say 'no.'"

This was a totally new concept to her, I could tell. I could also tell that while she enjoyed the beauty-queen lifestyle more than I had, she wasn't as into it as she appeared. I got the feeling she did it because it was something to do, and Cynthia was one of those people who needed to be adored. It wasn't a bad thing; it was just how she was, and I thought that this whole thing was probably good for her self-confidence, so maybe it would make her less codependent. It was getting late. Mom still wasn't back, but we went ahead and got ready for bed anyways. "Should we be worried?" I asked Cyn.

"Nah," she shrugged, "she takes off sometimes. I'm pretty used to it, really."

I raised my eyebrows and spit toothpaste into the sink. "Does she have a man?"

"Ha! Well, she does, but she doesn't…they go out, but I think they both want to be together just to have someone more than they actually like each other," she said with a clarity that surprised me.

I swapped places with her and moved to wash my face. "What are you guys doing for Thanksgiving, since I'm crashing your holiday?"

She tried to talk through the toothbrush in her mouth. "Nuh we' go' to Tante's," she slurred, spitting toothpaste all over me.

"Cynthia, gross!" I flicked a handful of water on her. I expected a good hearty water war to follow, but she just laughed and wiped the water off her face. "What time are we leaving, then?" It was a good two hours to Baton Rouge.

"Early. I think we left at six last year; don't you remember?" I groaned. "What is it?"

"Let's see…my body thinks it's seven at night, and it's going to think it's three when we get up, and I got up at two this morning," I replied.

She shrugged. "Just sleep in the car. It's what I always do," she said dismissively, shutting the light off and walking into her room like that was the end of it. But I knew my body wouldn't let me sleep. My dreams had been vague for a while now, but they'd definitely been growing darker. The visions of me running through a forest—either outrunning someone or running to someone, I wasn't sure—were recurring more often. Something big was going to happen, and soon. I knew I wasn't going to sleep: I wasn't sure when I'd be back here. But somehow, against all odds, I did sleep, and the benefit of sleeping was that it put a perfectly natural and excusable barrier between me and my mother in the car the next morning. I wasn't ready yet to hear what she had to say. I was quick to speak and slow to listen.

Mom herself shook me awake when we got to Chantal and Jacques's. She was wordless but not cruel, and she walked ahead of us quickly, opening the door before Chantal got the chance and semi-collapsing into her arms. Tante Chantal rubbed her back, her face screwing up in confusion as she raised her eyebrows at Cynthia and me. Cynthia pointed to me, mouthing, "She did it!" Great. Thanks a heap, Cyn.

Much as I suspected, the party was in full swing, even at nine in the morning. My younger cousins Amélie and Jack, aged eleven and nine, were chasing each other around the kitchen in between tasting something Uncle Jacques was mixing up, and my thirteen-year-old cousin Emily was sitting in the den watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade. The sound of the commentators from the television was competing with the wailing Cajun music that Jacques was accompanying in the kitchen. He stopped what he was doing to give and Cynthia both hugs, planting kisses on our heads. "Good morn to you, young Alice and _la jolie blonde!"_

Cynthia wrinkled her nose; she hated being nicknamed after the unofficial anthem of all things Cajun, but Uncle Jacques always did and always would do whatever he wanted. He ruffled my hair and Jack and Amélie stopped chasing each other. I noticed for the first time that he was waving a recipe card around and she was trying to bake biscuits. I plucked the card out of his hand as he threw his arms around my waist. "You're here!" he sang.

I laughed, reaching over his head sneakily to hand the recipe back to Amélie. "Where else would I be?" I asked.

He scrunched his nose up at me. "I don't know. I don't care. Let's play! I have a new game that's lots of fun, and…"

"Actually, we are out of milk and butter, and Alice has volunteered to help me get some, haven't you, _chère?" _Tante Chantal asked, picking up her keys.

I smiled weakly, but I knew that she wasn't going to descend on me like a pack of wolves. "Sorry, Jack! I'll play with you later," I promised, shedding my jacket. It was hot and humid as usual, and I was wearing shorts, which unfortunately just accentuated my pallor. I slid into Tante Chantal's comforting embrace before clicking my seatbelt into place.

"I love what you've done to your hair, _chérie,_" she commented, taking my hand as she drove. "Needless to say, you gave your mama quite a stir." I didn't know exactly what to say because I didn't know exactly how much she knew, and the last thing I wanted to do was cause more family problems, especially on a holiday. I fiddled with my ring that looked like Jupiter. "Your mama told me what you said about her broken heart, and I think you're right. We all think you're right, but none of us have courage like you do, Alice."

I scoffed. "I don't think courage has anything to do with it. I'm just rude. My father's daughter, she used to say."

Tante Chantal rolled her eyes. "She's just bitter that your papa didn't come chasing after her when she left. He came chasing after _you._"

I frowned; I hadn't known that. "But do you think anything is going to change out of this—out of me being here and standing up for myself? I just want her to be honest, least of all with herself and then with me."

She didn't say anything right away. She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes and said, "All I can say is that I feel a change coming."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Way to be cryptic," I muttered under my breath. She laughed her characteristic high, trilling laugh in response. I'd always thought of my mother and aunt as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. A gross exaggeration, to be sure, but my aunt was so light and youthful and full of energy, and my mother…well…

Thanksgiving dinner went off without a hitch. The food was delicious and abundant, and everyone talked at the same time, and even my mom had somewhat heightened animation. She even went shopping with me, Cynthia, Emily, and Tante Chantal the next morning, which, though profitable, was excruciating and something I vowed never to do again. We all went to bed immediately afterwards and slept straight through to Saturday, the designated football day. My dreams weren't terribly clear, but the running motif reoccurred, as did a silver-and-purple wrapped package—from whom, I couldn't tell—that held powerful meaning. Before I knew it, Sunday was upon me. I was in the car on the way to the airport, I felt like I'd barely spent enough time with my family to staunch the weird panic I felt at times, and I still had no message—or any communication whatsoever—from my mother. I stood in front of security. Cynthia and I just embraced and smiled; no words seemed necessary. With surprising insight, she discreetly left for the bathroom to leave me and Mom alone. We watched each other cautiously and took breaths to speak at the same time. I gestured for her to go first, slipping off my new red peacoat. She blinked hard to steady herself and opened her mouth, but no words came. I looked at the clock impatiently. I was going to be late, but I didn't want to miss whatever she had to say. She surprised me next by smoothing my raggedly cut hair, hugging me lightly, and slipping a letter into my hand.

I settled in to read it as soon as Gulfport slipped out of sight below me, grateful that the seat next to me was mercifully empty. My breathing sped up. _Alice,_ it read, _I owe you. I don't know if it's too late to try, but I will. You're right about what you said, and it was brave of you to come here. You will receive my answer to your ultimatum soon. Please don't act just yet._

A thousand emotions hit me at once like a tidal wave. I thought wryly that Jasper would have a field day if he were here. Relief, disbelief, shock, happiness, wariness...all part of an endless storm that I sailed through all the way to Seattle. I didn't know what to do or where to turn. What was I supposed to do, wait? What was going to happen? This was all too much. I kept my eyes shut as much as necessary and felt guilty for the dread that was setting in. I wasn't ready to face my dad yet. I didn't want to have to tell him about a weekend that I barely understood myself. I navigated my way through the crowds of East-Coast arrivals, looking for Dad's familiar face, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I whirled around, clenching my fists. A face I never expected to see was connected to the hand on my shoulder. A slow, disbelieving smile stretched and grew across my face. "How did you know?" I asked, reaching up for Jasper's hand.

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "I said if you needed me, I'd know about it, right?"

I rolled my eyes as I took his hand, exiting into the cold mist. "You are _such_ a devil." His laughter was the sweetest music I'd ever heard.


	15. Insight

Insight

I woke up suddenly. Though the clock read nine, I felt as if it was much earlier. I shook my head, feeling strange—I hadn't thought I'd had any jet lag. Rain lashed against the windows as I padded downstairs. I hoped the rain wouldn't delay my flight, but I couldn't help but be bitter that I was leaving rain to go to more rain. I poured myself a hearty cup of coffee. Hmm, still warm…but no trace of Cynthia or Mom. That was nice of them, and it tasted exactly the way I liked it. I sighed into the steamy mug contentedly.

"I made it just the way you like it, Alice," a voice broke in from the living room. I froze. I knew that voice.

"Ben." I turned slowly to face the one person I never wanted to see again, yet here he was, right in my very house. Well, one of my houses.

"It's been a long time," he mused, shaking his tousled brown hair.

"Ben, what are you doing here? We broke up," I said, feeling helplessly lost for words, which didn't happen often.

"I couldn't just let you come visit without saying hello, could I?" he smiled in what I assumed he thought was a charming way.

"Um…" Ben Ramsey was of average height, strong build, handsome in a rakish kind of way, and dangerous as hell. He was a typical poor little rich kid; he got everything he ever wanted, but his parents practically ignored him. His mother was so introverted I was surprised she didn't walk around backwards, and his dad was CEO of his own publishing company—they had all the makings of a really bad TV movie. Ben drank abundantly, which wasn't to say that he got hammered regularly; he drank often, but in small doses. He hid it well, rarely showing the typical signs of intoxication. He became smoother, more charming…and yet extremely cunning, accusatory, and quick to anger. For someone who was territorial by nature anyways, enhanced anger really wasn't a characteristic he needed. He put a few bruises on my body and immortal soul.

"Ben," I said, finding my voice, and taking a breath of air to steady myself, "you need to leave. This is my home. I don't want you here."

He chuckled. "This ain't your home…you left here. So I can do any old thing I want."

"You don't own this place or the people in it. Get out. Now," I spat.

He ignored me completely. "Come on, don't be that way, baby. I thought now that you were back, we could pick up where we left off."

"Don't call me 'baby'. And there's nothing to pick up from. We broke up almost a year ago." I was starting to get nervous. I knew he'd been drinking, and he sure wasn't keeping a distance. "Ben, don't you dare take another step. I'll scream." Screaming was something I was good at.

He gave that stupid, sly chuckle again. "Who's gonna hear you, princess?" he whispered, backing me against the counter. "Your sister? Your mom? They left hours ago. It's just you and me."

I couldn't say I didn't warn him. I screamed long and loud, but he anticipated it, clamping his hand over my mouth. I tried to bite down, and I was a strong person despite my size, but for whatever reason, I was paralyzed. My body felt full of lead and I was really starting to panic…

…and that's when I woke up.

I was completely confused. I looked about my room. I was safely back in Forks. I'd already flown back, Jasper had picked me up, and Ben was nowhere to be found. A loud knock sounded on my door and my dad opened it before I said anything. "You've got to get an alarm clock that you can hear," he said, amused. "But then again, you were screaming too loud…you okay, Al?"

My throat _did_ feel raw. "When did I scream?"

"Just now. Don't worry about it. Bad dream?"

I shuddered. "Ben was in it."

Dad's face turned black for a second, and then the cloud passed. "Well, I left some eggs and coffee for you. Good news; the sun is shining today!" Good grief, I could hear him _whistling_ as he went down the stairs. Living here really did give people seasonal affective disorder, whether they admitted it or not. Everyone at school was smiling and laughing, and most people even elected to sit outside at lunch. I protested—the sun didn't change the cold weather—but I was overruled, of course. None of the Cullens or Hales was there, so I made their house my first stop after school.

"Playing hooky, are you, Mr. Hale?" I asked when I heard him call me in.

"Not exactly," he said, swinging an arm around my hip. "It's sunny."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, remember that talk we had about vampires and urban legends? I'm pretty sure you said vampires don't explode or melt in the sun."

He looked at me with a half-amused, half-puzzled expression. "Have I seriously never showed you? Well, come on." And with that he swung me over his back abruptly and we were off like a rocket, whipping through the forest and banking up the hillside to a clearing where no one could see us. He dropped me in the center of the clearing, but he was nowhere to be found when I looked round me. Finally I spotted him on the edge of the clearing, hovering just in the shadows and in the process of removing his shirt. He took a deep breath and took a step forward.

I don't know what I expected. Blinding light, maybe. Or a transformation into an ethereal beast. But what I didn't expect was for him to glow faintly like backlit alabaster, not overwhelmingly obvious but just enough that I could see that going out in the daylight could be perilous. I stared at him in unmasked wonder and admiration as the sun glinted off his well-defined but not overly bulked stomach and chest, inwardly scoffing at the memory that he'd jokingly asked if I'd found anyone else on my visit to Biloxi. As if they could compare. I marveled as well at the impressive ability vampires had to go shirtless in November and not get cold; I was shivering slightly in my red wool peacoat that buttoned to the neck, yellow beret pulled firmly over as much of my head as the fabric would allow, and thin but insulated gloves.

As he approached me, I couldn't help but let out a whine. "Seriously, Jasper?" He grinned. I'd made a lot of improvements in the self-esteem department recently. I knew that I was a pretty girl, relatively intelligent, forward, and not a pretender. Still, I thought I'd be much happier if I'd lived somewhere between the 1930s and 1950s—Ginger Rogers had crooked teeth, Marilyn Monroe was a size 10 at least, and both were considered perfectly beautiful; meanwhile, I sat here and tried not to feel bad about going from a size 0 to a 2 and finally to a 4, where I was currently hovering. While this had some definite benefits, including having an easier time shopping for clothes that actually fit and finally having boobs, I wondered just how plain I really looked every time Jasper and I were together.

As if he were reading my mind, he said quite conversationally, "Nobody notices me anymore, you know."

"Oh really?"

"Sure," he said offhandedly. "You're new; I'm not. Plus I exude danger, which you don't seem to pick up on. Most people avoid us, though they can't say why. They agree we're perfectly nice, but there's just something nagging in the back of their minds that tells them to stay away."

"Except me."

"Well, you never did have much by way of common sense…" I gave him a shove, but not much of one—I didn't want to break my wrists. He laughed all the way home.

I could hear voices from inside the house before we got the door open, but they fell silent, save for one. "Oh, great, the _human's_ back," Rosalie griped.

"Rosalie, be nice," Esme admonished.

"Does she have to show up _now, _though, right when we're in the middle of…"

"She is welcome _anytime,_ Rose. Hello, Alice," Carlisle said, opening the door. I was much less concerned with Rosalie's obvious yet mysterious dislike of me and more interested in what was going on, though everyone appeared perfectly normal. "I hope you had a pleasant holiday," Carlisle continued, giving me a once-over. Undoubtedly his precise eyes could detect the slightest weight gain, though my coat was thick, but I knew his senses could discern the iron levels in my blood. I'd noticed myself for the first time in the car that my nails curved as they should, as opposed to their previous flattened our and concave state: a sure sign that I was getting "better", whether I wanted to or not.

Instead of detailing, I smiled. "It certainly wasn't what I expected, but it was pleasant enough," I said truthfully.

Jasper led me into the den, tossing me an apple from a fruit bowl in the kitchen as we made our way through. I rolled my eyes at the back of his head. Emmett was engrossed in an NFL game. "Hi, little sister!" he said, scooting over to make room for me. I was surprised to find comfort between the two of us since he spent most of his time chasing after Rosalie, and I was pretty sure that talking to me was a no-no with her. I wasn't sure if that was devotion or just being whipped.

I wasn't really paying attention to the game—not that I had the time, because Emmett was flipping through channels at superhuman speed so that he could basically watch all the games at one time while watching the Weather Channel, CNN, and the Food Network. I could hear rumbling noises and a lot of grating and clunking through the ceiling, and though I was staring straight at the ceiling wondering if there was going to be a cave-in, Emmett and Jasper seemed unconcerned.

"Good Lord," I said after a particularly loud splash of noise.

Emmett chuckled, as if I'd alluded to a private joke. "Yeah, that's God, all right…"

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"Do you know about my past?" Emmett asked, turning towards me. I shook my head. "I had a rough-and-tumble human life. Gatlinburg was just a logging town back then, not the mecca of tourism it is today. Anyway, my brothers and I were low on meat one spring, and I thought I'd get us a bear. You ever have bear meat? I don't recommend it—it's greasy, but it keeps well, and one bear brings a lot of meat. You ever wrangle with an irritable mama bear? I don't recommend that, either, unless you're immortal." He winked at me and I giggled. Jasper snorted and rolled his eyes.

"It turned out that this particular day I picked a bear that was too big for me, if you can believe it. It thought I was making a run for its cub, so it made a run for me. The bear knocked me to the ground, and I caught my head on some rocks, knocking myself semi-unconscious. The bear came back to finish me off. As it raised its paw, I heard a roar. I figured it was another bear, but suddenly an angel came and started fighting the bear. She snapped its neck and drank its blood. I just assumed I was delirious, and I slipped under. When I came to, the angel had me in her arms and we were flying across the ground. Not long after I woke, she brought me to God." I laughed, seeing how he could make the comparison.

"Now, I'd had a lot of fun in my twenty years, probably too much fun, so the fires of hell came as no surprise to me. What did surprise me was that the angel stayed with me, and she and God were still there when I was done in purgatory. They explained what had happened and where pretty surprised at how accepting I was. But if I got to keep my angel, and if God was a vampire, how bad could it be?"

He gave a great booming laugh. "You see, Alice, I understand you, and I loved Rosalie in my last human moments because she saved me, so I understand wanting to be a vampire." I didn't point out that I hadn't actually said that, although it was true. "For me, even though the decision wasn't mine, it was easy—a few days of pain, but the rest of time with a heavenly creature."

Jasper's hand shot out so quickly that I didn't see the punch, I just head its crack against Emmett's jaw. "Jasper!" I cried, horrified.

"You aren't helping," Jasper muttered to Emmett.

"That's okay, Jasper, she has a right to know." I was ten shades of surprised to see Rosalie not only in the room, but sticking up for me as well. "Saving him was only half-easy because I couldn't turn him myself, but I knew it was right. He reminded me of…well, my best friend's baby, the embodiment of her marital happiness. I know that sounds strange. He was just so…_pure, _I suppose. I felt compassion towards him, and I don't feel that towards many people. I wanted to keep something that pure and make it mine, even if I could never have children. Do you want this someday? Do you think you'll be one of us?" she asked, addressing me for the first time.

"I know I'll be one of you," I replied calmly. "I've seen it, so it's not necessarily a matter of 'if,' but of 'when.'"

"Are you always so sure of your visions?" she challenged. She reminded me of Jasper when I told him about going to Biloxi, but I understood her skepticism. Everyone who knew about my dreams was skeptical until they played themselves out, which I could sympathize with—who knows if I'm telling the truth, or on a darker note, who knows what I might see?

"No," I admitted, "they are dependent on the decisions and convictions of the people in them."

"Do you want this?"

"I want to be where Jasper is," I said, avoiding her question. I'd never been one for pain, which was what little I knew of the transformation process, and truthfully I wasn't in a huge hurry to give up mortality. I did want to be a vampire, but I figured I had roughly five years, in which time Jasper and I would still be on a healthy footing relationally, and I could graduate from college. A part of me still had those dreams most girls have about raising a family and growing old and having a garden and growing your own vegetables, but I couldn't bring a child into the world just to leave it behind—and I didn't even know if Jasper could produce children, but I had a feeling the answer was 'no.'

Rosalie regarded me carefully, seeming to analyze me for the first time. "Well, I just want you to realize mortality isn't something to be taken lightly. Don't throw it away."

"Oh, don't worry;" I answered cheekily, "I'm going to college first."

"See, Emmett? _That_ is a prime example of being helpful," Jasper said.

"Jasper, shut up," I grumbled.

Rosalie actually cracked a smile for a split second before sobering up into her usual frown. "I don't like you, you know," she said to me, but her voice lacked just a tiny bit of its previous conviction.

"I know…but you will someday." A broad grin spread across my face. She didn't have to know I was bluffing.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "I guess you'd know," she said as Jasper and I were leaving. I was grateful the door covered my snickers.


	16. Pieta

Pieta

Over the coming weeks, everyone seemed to be disgusted that life wasn't moving faster. Teachers poured on work without purpose, trying to cram in as much as they could before the winter holidays. Every night I was up far past midnight, trying to balance school, keeping up with the house, and my new communication lines with my sister and mom while my Tante Chantal tried not to choke with satisfaction. Things between me and my mom were still tense and sort of weird, but it was getting better. She had, against all odds, turned in a statement saying the news story was completely false, and she took action against the magazine. Due to her lack of a previous record and her good standing in Biloxi, she wasn't brought up on charges, and _Seventeen_ wasn't interested in hers. They paid her an out-of-court settlement, which she used to pay the newspaper and city for fraud. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Finally, the snow came, as did the holidays—after, of course, the midterm exams. English and French were easy. My project with Jasper counted as our exam. The Calculus exam was passable, thanks to it being all multiple choice, I suppose. Economics was ghastly, and I made a note to pay more attention next term, though precious little of what we learned in class was actually on the exam, so I made a note to watch the news more often. But at least we had a long three and a half weeks without school, though I was more than a little jealous that it was Jasper's last year and not mine. The perfect send-off to school was, of course, the winter formal. I'd decided to take an old pageant dress and alter it. A dusty red-burgundy taffeta dress that was formerly floor length was now a little shorter than cocktail length with a full bell skirt and a sash that tied in the back. Best of all, the dress, which was the very same that I'd worn in the Miss Teen Mississippi pageant, actually fit now. Carlisle was practically beside himself, though he tried not to show it.

I was looking forward to the dance in more ways than one. I loved the opportunity to play dress-up, but since I got back from Biloxi, Jasper had been increasingly reserved. He tried very hard not to show it, of course, but I could tell he was hiding something from me. We spent far less time together, partially because of my crazy schedule but also because he'd taken sweeping absences from school. The teachers were horrified, of course, but naturally Jasper passed all his exams with flying colors. It wasn't hard for me to figure out that his absences had nothing to do with the weather—it was overcast, as usual—and in fact, after he made the mistake of bringing me back a brand of ginger ale by the name of Ale 8-1 (pronounced "A Late One"), which can only be found in the state of Kentucky, I deduced that he'd been traveling. His brief journeys were a complete mystery to me, but the Cullens didn't seem a bit concerned. He never told me when he was going, and he never told me where he went or what went on. All I knew was that the time we did spend together was filled with a fraught urgency and tension, like we were living on borrowed time, and he was near-obsessive about me never venturing anywhere in a wooded place or at night by myself. When we were together, his behavior reminded me of a newly-returned war veteran's—he constantly scanned the perimeter and seemed even more alert and jumpy than usual. All this, coupled with my recurring nightmares, did not make for an improvement in my general happiness.

Not only was I having the same creepy dreams about Ben, but I was also dreaming about myself and Jasper. I saw myself alone in the woods, terrified to oblivion and always with the certain knowledge I was dying, but that was it—I saw no cause of death, no killer, no clues, only a crippling pain with no central source. And Jasper? Well, I didn't see him at all; that was the problem. I had dreams of myself going through every day life, and he was gone. This absence was more than his briefer school vacations. I literally saw a timelapse of the progression of seasons in my dream. His family remained, giving me slight optimism, but there was no indication of where he was or when he'd return.

As it turned out, Jasper had a surprise for me on the night of the dance. He didn't let me know, of course, until just before we were set to leave—as in, I was completely ready to go, digital camera charged, sitting in my room watching the Barbra Streisand version of _Hello, Dolly!_ when he called and asked if I was dead set on going to the dance. "If you mean that me getting dressed up was for naught…well, Mr. Hale, I try not to be a complainer, but you better start running _now_ if your idea is that we order a pizza and watch TV."

He laughed heartily, and I breathed a sigh of relief, because for the first time in nearly two months, he sounded like his old, easygoing self again. "Don't worry; I've got an idea that necessitates you being dressed up." Almost immediately afterward, the doorbell rang and I skipped down the stairs. I felt my eyes go wide when I let Jasper in. If Jasper was attractive in civilian clothing, he was devastating in a tuxedo. I swallowed and mutely stepped aside so he could actually get in the doorway; I didn't even try to disguise my eyes wandering downwards, upwards, and back again. He looked like he'd been transplanted straight out of an old movie. He didn't seem to much disguise his wandering eye, either…_hmm, must mean I did something right,_ I thought, especially since usually he tried to maintain behavior that was proper—by his standards, anyway. I didn't have a lot of room to talk about good behavior.

We drove for what felt like a long time but probably wasn't, due to Jasper's terrifying speed. We parked in a garage in downtown Seattle, and I looked around suspiciously. This was the old part of town, but also a part that, when one ventured far off the main streets, could be less than safe, potentially. "Um…where…" I started.

"We're going to the Seattle Symphony," he said by way of explanation, pulling the tickets out of the glovebox.

I couldn't contain my surprise; the symphony was _not _Jasper's thing. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Well, hell, I already bought the tickets," he said with a grin.

I let out a noise that was probably a squeak as I flew over the center console to throw my arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, _thank_ you!"

He laughed the rich, deep laugh I loved. "If you thank me so profoundly all the time, people will think I don't treat you right," he teased. I rolled my eyes. "But before we go, there's one more thing…" he gently turned me around so my back was to him, and he undid the top button of my red peacoat. I felt something both soft and cold fall around my neck to rest in the hollow between my collarbones. He gently kissed the sides of my neck as he placed the necklace on me, making me shiver. Curiously I flipped open the mirror on the visor to find a pretty metal coat-of-arms supported by a crossed lilac-gray ribbon.

"It's beautiful, Jazz! Wait, doesn't this match the band on your arm…?" I pulled at the sleeve of his tux but didn't get far; the cufflinks on his shirt didn't facilitate much movement.

"Yes, and those of Emmett and Edward, and Rosalie's necklace, and Carlisle's ring, and Esme's bracelet…" he trailed off, hoping, I imagine, that I'd see the developing trend.

"The Cullen crest. Worn by Cullens," I said faintly.

"That's right," he said, looking serious. "I won't make you promises I can't keep. I won't turn you…I can't," he said, and I could tell that simple admission caused him more pain than he would ever admit, but I could feel it radiating off him. "Nor can Esme or Emmett. Rosalie won't because of her prejudice. Edward won't because of his morality. Bella could, probably, but she would need years to prepare. Carlisle undoubtedly and unflinchingly could, but I won't ask him, and he wouldn't do it unless you were dying—unless you had no other alternative. However, he could probably be persuaded because he knows what you are to me. I can't bring myself to the selfishness necessary to ask you to give up your life as you know it. But I don't object to you joining us, as long as you choose it. If not, I'll be with you for as long as you want me around," he made dimples at me, trying to end on a light note.

I let the conversation drop and found my own light note as I saw that the feature tonight was Mussorgsky's _Pictures at an Exhibition_, one of my absolute favorites, as well as a concerto by Prokofiev and Norwegian piece based around their national anthem. An eclectic mix, no doubt, but a pleasing one. The orchestra played Mussorgsky just the way I liked it—no breaks between movements so you lost track of which was which, with the "Baba-Yaga" movement sounding frenzied and growing ever louder into "The Great Gates of Kiev," which was so loud and majestic that I could feel my teeth rattling. I remained practically speechless with happiness and awe. I had almost, _almost_ forgotten last night's activities—a reprise of my creepy dream with Ben—until Jasper had stopped in front of my house.

I hesitated. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I sort of hoped you'd stay with me tonight," I confessed. "I've had these recurring nightmares…" I trailed off, hoping I wouldn't have to add the contents of the nightmares.

Thankfully, Jasper told me to say no more, and that he'd see me momentarily. I lay on my back with my arms folded behind my head while I waited. He slid the window open silently and jumped in; I giggled as I took in his white t-shirt and sweatpants. He slid in next to me and I gladly placed my head on his chest. I was surprised at his choice of clothing; ordinarily, he dressed in as much clothing as would be comfortable for me to embrace so as to not make me cold. "Now, what's this about nightmares?" he asked, idly pulling at my hair.

I sighed. At least I hadn't specified the nightmare, and I didn't feel like telling him about the ones involving him, so I picked the least realistic and threatening nightmares. "I had this boyfriend in Biloxi, Ben Ramsey. He was like, the poster child for the poor little rich kid, but you'd never know it unless you knew him well. Everyone thought he was charming and fascinating and well-rounded and dashing as hell, and he was all of those things, but he was dangerous, too. Like most of the other things at my old school, everything with Ben was one big show. His extracurriculars were…less than legal…"

"Such as?" Jasper prompted.

"I'm pretty sure he was a member of the Dixie Mafia."

He choked a laugh back. "The _what?"_

"No, seriously, it exists. It's not as big a deal as it sounds—back in the day they made their money trafficking liquor, and now it's mostly gambling and drugs and assassinations and such things, but it does exist, and supposedly the headquarters is on The Strip in Biloxi. Anyhow, I do know that Ben was a sort of middleman for druggies—not that he used them himself, though he did drink…a lot. And naturally, drinking made him meaner. So I was his girlfriend, and everyone rejoiced because we looked so perfect together…"

I felt Jasper's arms tighten around me and I giggled. He was actually jealous. The idea was ridiculous. "You're much better looking," I said. "What I mean was that Ben and I were at the forefront of all the big events, so it was natural and expected that we get together. Nobody knows about the real Ben, though, the one that drinks and hits his women."

Now Jasper's arms really were tight; the anger was rolling off him in waves. "He _hit _you?" he asked, his voice heavy with contempt. "And you…stood for that?"

I rolled my eyes. "I didn't exactly have the best or happiest relationship examples to follow, Jasper. But I'm a tough kid, and one time it was just a little too much…I thought he'd broken my wrist. It was only sprained, but still…the fact that people could see the injury, that I couldn't hide it and I had to lie…I left him. And almost right afterwards, I came here, so it didn't matter. But listen, my nightmares have been about Ben. I don't think they're prophetic or anything, but they're still creepy as hell. He shows up in my old house in Biloxi and corners me and I scream…" I took a deep breath. "And then I wake up."

He didn't say anything, but that was okay. The hand that was absently thrown across my waist was tracing lazy circles on the bare skin of my stomach. I imagine his intent was to make me sleepy, but I only felt more alert; I sensed my nerves sharpening to a razor point. Then his lips were on mine like a collision. _Funny, I didn't remember being on my back…_ I gasped as his lips found my neck and I vaguely heard the tear of fabric. _There goes my shirt._ "Shit…Alice…you _have_ to slow your imagination down," Jasper breathed desperately.

_Like hell!_ I thought. But I dutifully tried to think of the least sexy things I could—rotting sewage, any of my teachers in their skivvies, but Jasper's actions sort of overruled even the most disgusting images my mind could conjure. All of the sudden, I felt something in my leg give way—Jasper had been in the process of heatedly separating my legs and throwing them around his waist, drawing us closer. I cried out in pain, but the pain was the least of my worries, because suddenly my leg was very wet and I smelled the warm iron-salt of my own blood. My stomach dropped and nausea rolled over me, not from squeamishness, but from pure fear.

Jasper had flown to the opposite side of the room. His eyes were closed and he wasn't breathing, trying not to take in the scent of my flowing blood. He was shuddering terribly, and when his eyes opened, the honey color of his irises was blackened by bloodlust. My fear spiked and my breathing increased. He shook all over once more, stared at me in absolute horror—and then he was gone.

I felt ashamed at myself for being relieved at his leave. I had some time to examine my left leg now. I wasn't entirely sure what had cut my leg; he was moving so quickly over my body that my brain hadn't the time to process his motions. But the gash was nasty and ragged, cutting from just above my kneecap to nearly my ankle. I knew the cut wasn't as serious as it looked; the skin was thin. Even so, I knew that I couldn't stay here, but I didn't know how to explain this one to Dad. Suddenly Carlisle's gleaming head poked through my window. "Edward heard Jasper when he ran by the house. I knew I needed to come, but all my supplies are at home, so I'll have to take you with me," he said so quickly I could barely understand. Apparently the cut was worse than I thought. He tied my leg off at the knee with a strong strip of rubber.

I blew my hair out of my eyes, exhaling slowly. "Where is he?" I asked wearily.

"Don't worry; he'll come back, he's just upset," Carlisle said, not answering my question. I thought angry thoughts, knowing he'd be able to hear them. "Truthfully, Alice, I don't know where he is. He just said he needed to get away for a while. He's terribly upset with himself. He could have killed you."

"For heaven's sake," I snapped, "I've done worse things to myself by accident than this. My so-called fragility is nothing new." I was still grumbling when he deposited me on the dining room table a few minutes later.

"Yes, yes, Alice, we know. Now then, could you hush for a few minutes while I survey the damage?" Carlisle asked gently. I promptly shut up, realizing how childish I sounded. Carlisle quickly mopped the wound clean and I gripped his upper arm as he poured antiseptic into the cut. I decided while I was stuck here that I'd ask the first of many questions that Jasper couldn't answer.

"Carlisle, why is Jasper so reluctant for me to be a vampire?" I asked. "I know I'm not in a hurry, but I would have thought in a few years' time that he would have made peace with the idea. I'm not running into this recklessly or anything—'' I hissed as the antiseptic worked its way deeper. "I want to get an education," I explained, "so that I can do something practical and take care of myself—have as close to a normal human life as possible, satisfying me, and have as many 'human' experiences as possible, satisfying him."

Carlisle diligently and gently prepared his surgical instruments, and he leaned closer to my leg to begin to apply some thick, angry-looking sutures. "I apologize that this will hurt quite a lot, but catgut couldn't be used; anemia patients absorb it too quickly. I suppose you would understand Jasper's feelings better if you had been here when Edward first met Bella. You've spoken to Rosalie about her feelings."

"Yes," I said, gritting my teeth. Rosalie hadn't chosen this life, and resented every moment and aspect, save her beauty and Emmett.

"You know why she appeared to dislike you so much, but she has a grudging respect for you because you're not throwing your life away, in her terms. But when Edward first felt the gravitational pull to Bella, much as when Jasper felt it towards you, my family fought. Some of us were upset they'd fallen for humans, but in both cases, the majority pointed out that to fall in love with a human means either to love briefly for the duration of the human life or to change them permanently. In Edward's case, he was so opposed that he avoided Bella. It was only a strange twist of fate and terrible misfortune that brought them together."

"But why? Isn't it sort of selfish to either only stay with someone for eighty years or avoid them altogether?"

"Yes," he said calmly. "But there are so many different factors. I changed everyone in my family except Jasper. By doing so, I doomed them to an existence that is theoretically endless and therefore infinitely loveless. We never go forward. We never change. We simply are. All this stands in odds to my human life. My father was an Anglican preacher who hunted possible werewolves, witches, and vampires. It became my task as he grew too old, but I was attacked and changed. I changed Edward out of selfish loneliness and as a favor to his dying mother. Esme's transformation was based on gut instinct. I'd hoped Rosalie would become a companion for Edward, but then I changed Emmett so Rose wouldn't be alone, later changing Bella for Edward. Technically, I broke a treaty in doing so. We agreed with the Quileutes that we wouldn't change humans or hunt on their lands if they wouldn't expose what we really are. But regardless of treaties and broken promises, I damned Bella to this life. I am merely grateful that she and most everyone else has found relative peace with what they've been given. Jasper feels that he can't allow you to change because he's partially afraid you'll grow to regret it and he doesn't want to rob you of human experiences that he knows you desire on some level, however small—you want, or wanted, to have children, become a grandmother, grow your own food, have a rose garden and a dog…"

I stared at him in astonishment. I'd had this conversation with Jasper just yesterday. "Edward, you dirty eavesdropper!" I called out, knowing he could hear me. I could hear quiet laughter and a muffled apology in response. "But I can have most of these things without being human. I can still have a garden and a dog, though I imagine it would be naturally averse to vampires, not being able to sense a human smell…"

"Put yourself in Jasper's position. We all love Rosalie, but she is so torn that she can never bear children. He is afraid you'll grow to feel as strongly as Rosalie, and he couldn't bear to see you in pain."

"I'm in pain already, and not just because of my leg!" I cried, frustrated.

"I know, and so does he," Carlisle said calmly.

"I hate being told what to do," I grumbled.

"Jasper's feelings are not unique to the situation; Edward felt the same way about Bella. But what prevented Edward from pursuing Bella as a human was his spirituality. Edward couldn't make the choice of changing Bella until her very life was at stake because he feels strongly that to be a vampire is to lose your soul, and in accordance with most beliefs, to lose a soul is to lose a purpose."

"Seriously?" I cried incredulously, for one second forgetting the pain threatening to split my leg open anew as Carlisle mopped the skin with more antiseptic.

Despite himself, Carlisle cracked a smile. "Are you a Christian, Alice?"

"No," I said adamantly.

He was truly surprised. "No?"

I sighed. "Honestly, my mom grew up Catholic and my dad grew up Jewish. Judaism always made more sense to me somehow, but I couldn't devote myself to waiting for a Messiah. Nor could I be satisfied with believing one had already come and that the human race was doomed until He showed up again. I read a lot of C.S. Lewis at my old school, and he said that we don't have souls—we are souls. We have bodies. I agree. I believe in God. I believe that everything that has life is connected. I believe that every soul has a purpose, that there is some reason for me, you, Edward, Jasper, and everyone else to be here."

He smiled softly while he applied some sort of sticky cream to my skin. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

I shrugged. "I lost my grandfather to cancer a year ago—I thought about mortality a lot. For what it's worth, he wasn't religious in the slightest. He was, however, a Freemason, and very philosophical."

"I have spent nearly four hundred years looking for purpose. Once I learned that I could sate myself on the blood of animals, I realized I had gifts so many human doctors did not. I would never have unsteady hands in the operating room. I require no rest. Even if I had problems with queasiness, I would never become ill. Even my heightened sense of smell and natural attention to blood is a useful tool, such as for diagnosing and monitoring your anemia. What I enjoy the very most is that in some way, somebody's life is a little bit better because of what I can do. At the very least, it deludes me into thinking I have a purpose."

I bent my leg at the knee so Carlisle could wrap my leg in gauze. "Well, call this purpose if you want, but if you and your family hadn't been around, I probably wouldn't be here," I said honestly.

"Oh, you're stronger than you think," he said lightly, tapping my nose. "You're going to have a scar, no doubt, but if you keep it hydrated, it shouldn't be severe."

"No, because nothing that's the full length of my shin and then some could be considered 'severe'," I said sarcastically. "So there's no chance that Jasper will budge on this?" I softened my voice.

Carlisle, who'd gathered the non-reusable medical supplies into a bowl, filled it with alcohol and set a match to it. He cast me an incredulous look. "I have no doubt that if you wanted to possess the moon, Alice, you'd find a way to do it. He will certainly budge if you make him, but if you want to go about this the right way and get his blessing, well, he's going to have to make a choice. He's decided not to live without you, and if he doesn't turn you, then he'll have to live without you eventually."

The way Carlisle said "if he doesn't turn you" made the cogs in my head turn in a new direction for the first time. "Could it be that he doesn't want to turn me because he doesn't want to be the one to do it? Could he even do it?"

"He doesn't want to hurt you…" Carlisle trailed off as we heard raised voices. I could hear a few snatches of the argument, and it was most definitely Rosalie's voice that proclaimed "that damn girl," "endangering the family," "sheer cowardice," "keeping you and everyone else worried," "inconsiderate"…

"Okay, Carlisle. Something is going on. And I know it. Jasper's been gone more than he's been here, and when he _is_ here, if I didn't know him better, I'd be seriously reevaluating our relationship because he's been acting freakishly protective and obsessive. I can't imagine there's much out there to scare a vampire, so I want to know what's scaring him, because it will almost certainly scare me, and dare I say it, I think it involves me directly, given his behavior," I said as firmly as I could.

Carlisle pulled out a chair backwards and sat down in it, leaning his chin on the back thoughtfully. "You know about Jasper's beginning, before he came to us." It was a statement, not a question. I nodded. "Do you know how he got away from Maria?" I shook my head. "There was…a bargain made," Carlisle said hesitantly. It was the first time I'd ever heard him falter.

"What sort of a bargain?" I asked cautiously.

"Jasper was Maria's masterpiece. She'd never created a vampire as powerful, driven, or brilliant, so naturally she wasn't going to let him just walk away and she was always by his side, so he couldn't slip away from her without her knowing instantly. She gave him a sort of ultimatum: either find and create the best possible replacement, or she would come after him. Unfortunately, a few months ago we had some visitors who were unaware of the tie between Maria and Jasper. These visitors are friends with both of our parties. Your scent was detected, so your relationship was explained. That relationship was mentioned to Maria, who believed Jasper was as in love with her as she is with him—therefore, the indeterminate deadline on his quest just ended. The damage she could cause would be catastrophic. On the one hand, other vampires have harmed our family without meaning to do so—we've had friends visit us who've hunted too readily in the immediate area, causing suspicion to be cast upon us, so we've had to move several times. But what Maria would do—what she is capable of doing—I do not even want to imagine. She would hurt Jasper as much as he's hurt her. She would cost him as much as she could have gained with him remaining by her side. She'd destroy us, particularly you," he said gravely, meeting my eyes for the first time.

I shook my head slowly from side to side, trying to comprehend all this. "But there's one of her, and seven of you," I said. "Mathematically, she doesn't stand a chance…wait a minute, aren't vampires invincible?"

Carlisle smiled wryly, but I could detect the bitterness. "Except to other vampires. We _can_ be killed, you know."

"But the scars…Jasper's scars, I mean…"

"Oh, yes. Our venom is the only thing that blights our physicality, but it doesn't kill. To kill a vampire is somewhat simple, really. The vampire must be ripped apart, typically at all his or her joints, and the pieces must be burned; otherwise, the pieces will move independently until the body is formed again."

I made a face. "That's disgusting. Even so, there are more of you than there are of Maria."

"Yes," he agreed, "however, you're forgetting something, Alice. Maria created Jasper and literally hundreds of newborn vampires. Newborns are twice as strong as older vampires and far more unpredictable. They don't know how to handle their own strengths, and they're so crazed by bloodlust that they're dangerous unless the people fighting them are experienced. Maria could just as easily create an entire army, and while Jasper is experienced in…erm, _dismantling_ newborns, the rest of us aren't, and creating an army to outnumber us would not be difficult."

I considered this, knowing he was correct. "Why doesn't he just find a replacement already? He's had…oh, I don't know, two hundred years?" I asked exasperatedly.

"Jasper never took Maria seriously, which, given his military mind, is a shocking mistake on his part. I have very few bad things to say about him, but fear has kept him from seriously looking until now. He recognizes his limitations—this lifestyle is terribly difficult for him, and his previous attempts to create a replacement have, shall we say, failed." Carlisle grimaced.

"You mean he can't stop himself, which is why he's afraid of changing me."

"Precisely. But now Maria, it seems, intends to make good on her threat, and so he is faced with the decision of finding the strength within himself to comply with her wishes, or to return to her permanently, or to destroy her before she finds you."

I lay back against the dining room table and shivered. As much as I hated it, it seemed the only thing that was left for me to do was wait. I could only hope I wasn't kept waiting very long.


	17. Eternal

Eternal

_February 11: The Cullens are becoming completely ridiculous. I have talked to them time and time again, saying that with nearly seven billion people on the planet, surely he would have found a replacement for himself by now, and that nobody should be gone this long. They don't listen. I love it when people don't listen to me._

_April 2: The deed is done. Today I put away the ticket stubs, the necklace, the photo album, the CD his brother composed and performed, the most recent favorite book his sister loved and passed on, the unopened Christmas present his parents gave me—all in a box in the attic._

_May 26: Nothing seems to be working on the scar on my leg from that night. It's smooth, but I want it to be gone. If not for the scar, I'd have no traces of him at all, not even my predictions._

_June 6: The seniors graduated today, minus one._

_September 7: I feel like I should be more nostalgic about my last year of high school, but I'm not. I just want it to be over so I can move on to the next thing. Then again, it's hard to be nostalgic about a place that I haven't lived for very long, and a place I've come to hate._

_June 4: Dad finally let me get a cat! The vet clinic where I work had a litter of kittens dropped off, and I just couldn't resist the enormous orange-and-white beast. His name is Socrates._

_August 15: Today I had to say goodbye to the vet clinic and to Liz and Kate, who are attending the University of Puget Sound together. Only a few weeks till I'll be gone, too. It's so hard to believe I'm actually going to Brown, and on scholarship, too. It's my dream school. It's so incredible to know that one thing in my life is going so right, and after this, I'll be set to go to grad school anywhere in the world._

It was December 6, and I thought it was time to write a new entry. The door to my tiny dorm suite slammed. I shut the tattered old journal and looked up. My roommate, a study abroad student from France named Cécile, had just come in. "Is it still raining?" I asked.

She grimaced and nodded, shaking off her umbrella. "Worse; it is ice. I thought you said it didn't rain much in Rhode Island…"

I smiled in what I hoped was an apologetic manner and shrugged. "I also would have told you that I thought the population of Providence was growing, not shrinking, and that it wasn't so cold here."

Cécile laughed. "I will never ask _les américains _for 'elp. What are you reading?"

I couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious. "Just a journal I wrote in while I was at home."

She waved an accusatory finger at me. "You do not tell me about your 'ome. I tell you about mine. It was not happy?"

I smiled at the irony of this. "It was the happiest time of my life." She continued to stare at me levelly as she bustled about the room, heating a mug of water to make tea. I sighed. "Okay, _fine_," I said reluctantly, "I'll tell you. What do you want to know?"

"What is Washington like? What did you do for fun? Did you have a man? What are your parents like? What are"—I stopped her in mid-sentence, holding up my hand.

"One thing at a time! Lord, you French people are so impatient!" I grumbled. "If you think Rhode Island is cold and rainy, never go to Washington. Where I lived was on the coast, and it was beautiful, but it rains almost every day, and it never gets very warm. But I did enjoy its proximity to Canada. I went to the beach with my friends, went to Seattle or Canada, read, worked, or cooked. I liked French and history. My dad is awesome and loving and awkward and obsessed with sports. My mom is complicated and unfriendly and obsessive and we don't really talk." I took a deep breath and pretended to wipe sweat off my forehead after my monologue.

"What about your boyfriend?" Cécile continued, not deterred in the slightest.

I groaned. "What is it with you French people?"

"Aren't you half-French?"

"I so don't want to answer that," I smirked, not willing to admit the irony. Funny how the traits I liked about myself—like tenacity—were annoying as hell in other people. "Um…okay. His name was Jasper Hale. He was—"

"Jasper 'Ale? What kind of name is _that?_" she interrupted.

"An old one! Let me finish, woman!" I flicked some of her own tea at her from across our tiny table. I sighed. "Jasper was…he was…well, you see..." I paused. Cécile waited. "Even when he was just talking, his voice sounded like music. Like cellos. He had this larger-than-life laugh. He was over six feet tall and thin, but very strong. He had curly blonde hair and golden-brown eyes. He had a southern accent. He was the definition of a southern gentleman. He was smart and funny, and…and I loved him very much," I finished, swallowing. I did_not_ like talking about Jasper. Except I did. Except I didn't. Except for when I did. Except for…

"You love him still," she said simply.

More swallowing and nodding.

"What happened?" she prompted.

More swallowing. "He…left. Not…not that he left _me._ But he went on a hiking trip. He never came back. It was almost two years ago."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you not have the _gendarmes _and the IBF" –"FBI," I corrected—"for this sort of ting? Who goes missing for two years?"

I scowled at her. It was easier, more comfortable, than showing sadness. "Of course we have—police, investigators, analysts, anthropologists, FBI, you name it. But they can't find a trace of him; no one can. He used to check in every so often with his parents, so they're not worried. He always sent his love to me. But that's not enough, you know? I thought he was going on a simple hiking trip, but he decided to make it a full cross-country journey, apparently. Sometimes his brothers meet up with him and travel with him for a while. I don't know what he's looking for," I said bitterly. I meant it, too—I thought it was completely impossible that he had failed to search in even one corner of the globe, and so it was equally impossible that he'd failed to find a replacement for himself, a general for Maria's army.

"What do you mean, '_used_ to check in?'" I sighed; trust Cécile to zero in on the tiniest details. She probably thought I hated her, I realized. Jacob joked that I was turning into a grumpier old woman every day.

"He hasn't checked in with them for a while," I admitted. "I'm not really close to his family anymore. It's just"—

"Do they not like you?" she interrupted.

I smirked. "Oh, they loved me. His dad was my doctor, and his mother adored me. He had a twin, Rosalie, and she never warmed up to me, but I could tell she was just protective. His older brother, Emmett, was like the older brother I don't have; you'd be hard-pressed to find a friendlier person than Emmett." It felt so strange to speak their names aloud, feel the ghosts of my former life around me. "He—_Jasper,_" I forced myself to say, "is a year older than we are; Emmett is a year older than he and Rosalie, and he has two other siblings, both a year younger, and both adopted. Edward was"—

"So many children. Zey are Catholic?"

I smiled, thinking of Catholic tirades against witchcraft and vampires in the Middle Ages. "No," I answered calmly, knowing that eventually, I'd finish this story, because we were leaving for Christmas vacation tomorrow. "Edward is...he's special. Edward is…was…is a wonderful person to go to when I don't want to have to break down every single aspect of my day and look at it under a microscope. He just understands me. Bella…she was my best friend. I was much closer to her than to my own sister, I'm afraid."

Cécile, astoundingly quiet for just a split second, took all this in. I got up to make another cup of tea, pouring water from the kettle resting on our contraband hot plate. "So…" she said, pressing the tips of her fingers together, "you all are one 'appy family, yet you do not see zem."

I took a long sip of orange-flavored tea. "I could have." I wrapped my fingers around the mug, hoping its warmth would penetrate. It was so damp here. I noted that the ice had turned to snow again. Again, Cécile remained quiet, watching me. I pulled the blanket I was wearing as a cape tighter around my shoulders. _Damn heat better be working when we get back next month,_ I thought, preoccupied. "I could have seen them, still been there for them, anything. I chose to turn my back on them," I said reluctantly. "I didn't want to. I was just trying to keep myself from hurting anymore. It made me angry that they weren't more concerned that their brother and son just disappeared for no apparent reason. I wanted to forget."

I turned back to face her, ignoring the snow. She gestured from the journal on the table to me. "You didn't," she said pointedly.

My lips twitched bitterly. "Nobody knows that better than me, _chére_."

Needless to say, I thought of my conversation with Cécile the whole way home. I tried not to; I had a killer new book, but I couldn't help but linger over the memories.

In Chicago, I saw that I had a message from my dad. "Hey, Al, I'm so sorry to do this to you, but I've just gotten a call out east that I have to take, so I can't come get you from the airport. Instead I'm dispatching Jake and will be at home when you get there. Over and out." I smiled, glad to hear his voice. It sounded closer since I was closer to home. It would be nice to see Jake, too, with whom I maintained a relationship that contained constant, ridiculous flirting, but we never crossed any further lines. We knew we weren't each other's' type.

I dozed on and off en route to Seattle, irritated that I was living the morning twice—I'd left at 9 am, Providence time, and it would be 10 am when I got to Port Angeles, despite the fact that four hours elapsed. It seemed like I barely had time to blink before I was in the tiny Port Angeles airport, one of only a handful of travellers. A tall, well-muscled bear of a boy waited just outside the security gate. "Jake!" I exclaimed, jogging the past few steps.

He flashed a grin, sweeping me into a massive, bone-crushing hug. "Hey, baby girl," he said, kissing the top of my head. "Long day?"

I groaned. "Is it over yet?"

He laughed. "Not even."

It was incredible how easily I slipped back into my old life. Dad swept me into a massive hug of his own, exclaimed how long my hair had gotten, and was more verbose in one afternoon than I'd known him to be in his entire life. He cooked me one hell of a meal, and I marveled at how quickly he learned to fend for himself when I left. I teased him that he'd gotten used to my gourmet cooking. Liz and Kate were coming home within the week, and we already had plans to meet up. Socrates followed me around everywhere, chirping goodnaturedly and purring hard whenever I scratched behind his ears.

It was unseasonably cold, and Dad had put in storm windows in my room for extra insulation. My favorite quilt adorned my bed, along with a heavy crocheted blanket my grandmother Brandon made. I snuggled into the flannel sheets, resting my hand on Socrates' side. I hadn't anticipated how happy I was going to become when I came home, how much I'd missed it. Smiling to myself, I slipped into sleep easily.

And then I was running.

It was cold, and I wasn't wearing my coat—I got a new one for Providence, this time a blue peacoat, double-insulated. My breath grew ragged in my chest as I tried to figure out why I was running and why I'd forgotten to use my inhaler beforehand. All I could figure was that I needed to run faster. Someone was in very serious danger. My brain was running faster than my feet; my thoughts broke through sporadically, like Morse code. _Jasper. Maria. Clearing. Forest. Dead._ My lungs were really hurting now; it was bitterly cold.

My chest heaved and heart beat wildly as I sat straight up in bed. The cat didn't even flick an ear. I felt freezing cold, despite the ten pounds of blankets on top of me. I tried to force myself to take in deep breaths. Breathe. One thousand one. Exhale. Breathe. One thousand one, one thousand two. Exhale. Repeat, add, repeat. I'd just gotten my lungs to be useful when I felt cold horror prickling down my back.

I'd just had a dream.

I hadn't had a dream at all since the day I willed myself to stop being a fortune teller.

That meant it was real.

And Jasper was in trouble.

I sat on the edge of my bed, gritting my teeth. I'd been awake for all of ten minutes, trying to decide what to do. My dreams didn't come with a timestamp, so I had no idea when it was transpiring. It could very well be happening right now, or very soon, which was my current dilemma. Did I go, or did I stay? I knew Jasper was exceptionally strong and calculating to the point of cruelty, thanks to all his fine military training and incredible ability to detach himself from the situation. But I also knew that Maria had to be just as strong, or even stronger, for him to take her threats seriously, for him to be frightened enough by her that he'd embarked on what was now a two-year journey to do her bidding, in a sort of way.

_He abandoned me. But I loved him. But he was trying to decide what I could handle, what was my level of comfort. But I never got over him. But he was trying to decide my life for me. But I love him still, even though I don't want to._

And just like that, my mind was made up. I dressed quickly, tugging on jeans, wool socks, duck boots, a thermal shirt, thermal pull-over, and a red beret. My dream was annoyingly lacking in details of what I was about to be facing, but I could tell from just one glance out the window that I'd need everything I was wearing, since there were snowflakes swirling in the glow of the streetlight. I tried not to think about how irritating it was to try to dress in clothes that were both warm and made for speed as I wrapped a red crocheted scarf around my neck and slid into my coat, finding my mittens in the pocket. I slipped quietly out the back door and started to run.

I followed my instincts. My dream centered on a large, circular clearing. I remembered a similar clearing deep in the woods behind my house and silently praised my own resolve in the fact that I'd taken up running in college. I knew that probably only a few minutes had passed, but I felt directionless, it was bitterly cold, and I was starting to feel panicky. My lungs and legs burned with urgency, my body spiting me in the winter weather. After what I guessed had been about two miles, I sensed I was close. I felt renewed adrenaline and fear. My lungs seemed to be in danger of catching fire. _I'm going to cough for a week, _I thought stupidly as I tried to get to the clearing before Jasper did.

It hadn't occurred to me until just then, as I eased into a brisk walk in the hopes of staving off cramps, that I might die. I was surprised to find that I wasn't sad about this at all. There were so many times that I could have died before this—beauty pageants, near starvation, my abusive ex-boyfriend, the stress of my mother, and, of course, stupidity or freak accidents. Choosing to die to protect a family that I still cared about seemed to be a better option, because I knew all along that Maria was really after me, and I rationalized that if I were safely out of the way, as it were, then Jasper would be free to return to his roots. It didn't occur to me that he'd never actually do that.

I was walking now, so I felt—and probably seemed—almost calm when I broke through the tree cover into the clearing. The snow was falling lightly, and the sky was absolutely ablaze with stars. It was not difficult to spot Maria in the clearing. My breath caught in my throat. She was heartbreakingly beautiful and looked like a porcelain doll. She couldn't have been much taller than five feet. She smiled at me sweetly, almost as if greeting an old friend. She stepped forward to meet me, reaching out a hand that I imagined would probably close over my throat in a matter of minutes. I became aware of my pulse throbbing in my neck and how she could probably hear it.

"Hello, my darling," she said with just a hint of an accent, her outstretched hand instead grazing my shoulder. My thoughts were so jumpy that I knew I wasn't truly calm, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing any fear.

"Hello," I managed with a slight smile.

"I knew you would come," she said confidently. "Wouldn't want to miss the fun, would you?" she winked. "There's someone here who's just been _dying_ to see you," she added as she began walking slowly towards the middle of the clearing, where she could scan all the perimeters.

I did _not_ like her emphasis on the word 'dying.' Not that I had counted on trusting an extremely powerful and skilled huntress. I followed her slowly, trying and probably failing to appear nonchalant. I didn't even have time to blink before there was a huge hand over my mouth like a flash of lightning. A stocky, muscular arm rested against my throat, careful not to crush me, but still exerting enough pressure to hold me still, make me aware of its strength. I had been in this position before. My eyes widened and a sour taste rose in my mouth. _Oh, no…_

Sure now that I wouldn't start screaming, the hand fell away from my mouth and the man appeared before me in another flash of lightning. I swallowed hard. "Hi, Ben…" My former beloved was even handsomer and more menacing than I'd remembered. This wasn't in my dream. This was taking shots in the dark; Ben wasn't in my dream, and I had no idea how he was in the same place as Maria.

He smiled slowly. "Hey there, baby. Ya miss me?"

I swallowed again. This was too much at one time. Still no Jasper. "What…what are you doing here?" I asked numbly. I was much colder now that I was standing still.

Maria grinned. "Why, dear girl, why do you think he's here? Use that pretty college head of yours," she mocked.

I thought furiously. Ben was at school at Ole Miss. Too much sunshine for Maria to pass as a college student. He probably didn't owe anyone money, since his family owned half of Mississippi. He didn't know where I was in school, and neither did Jasper, unless the Cullens told him, and so if Jasper didn't know, then neither did Maria. Dixie Mafia? No, Maria wouldn't be interested in contraband, and if she wanted someone killed, she'd just do it herself.

My thoughts froze. _She'd just do it herself._ I slowly looked up and met Maria's gaze. "Your replacement."

She smiled in agreement. "He's remarkable. He's fast, strong, cunning, and has a quality even Jasper lacked—he's completely ruthless."

_I could have told you that,_ I thought. "So…that's it, then. You got your replacement, and Jasper's going to come home now, and I can go back to bed," I ventured, knowing this wasn't going to be the case.

She and Ben chuckled together, their voices a two-part harmony. "Of course not, you foolish girl. You see, Jasper failed. I found Ben by myself. He failed to find Ben for me per se… he left some traces when he was poking around Biloxi and I followed Ben myself. Since Jasper didn't find Ben and change him, Jasper failed to fulfill his end of the bargain."

"Meaning…?" I prompted.

"Meaning that I'm very sorry to say this," she said with false remorse, "but it appears as if I'm going to have to fail on my end of the bargain, too."

"But…you've got him," I said distractedly, gesturing to Ben, "so why…"

She smiled bitterly. "I want to destroy him. He destroyed me, our future, my plans. That he would fall for a pathetic, weak girl like you is just an insult to me. That he would surround himself with that freak circus that defies its own nature and calls itself a family is an insult to my training. That he would choose to deny the smell, the taste, the satisfaction that comes only with human blood…" she paused, taking a deep breath as she came closer to me. "I will break him," she said with resolve.

"What will that accomplish?" I asked. I knew there was no sense in arguing with someone who'd murdered possibly hundreds of thousands of people, but all I needed was to buy time.

"If he's left with nothing, then he'll have nowhere to turn. Nowhere else to hide, no purpose. Enter Maria," she said, gesturing to herself. "I will be completely infallible, invincible, in control, perfect."

I considered asking why she needed to have the resources necessary to take control of any population she wanted, but decided against it, as I'd figured out that she didn't follow the normal rules of logic.

"You could join us willingly, you know, if you wanted," she mentioned in what I imagine she thought was an off-hand sort of way. "Your dreams, or visions, would, I think, intensify if you were to change. Think of how powerful we would be. You could have anything you want, anything your heart desires. All you would have to do is serve me."

I shook my head slowly. "No?" she asked me. I shook my head again, firmer this time. "You're sure?" I nodded. My teeth were chattering too hard to talk clearly. Suddenly her demeanor changed, and there was something about her that was terrifying. She grinned triumphantly, closing in on me. Ben flitted around me in a circle. There was no way I could escape, but I knew that. I'd run into a pack of wolves. "You're too late!" she called over my shoulder. I turned, but she was counting on that.

Jasper had appeared in the clearing and was racing toward us, too fast to see clearly. Someone had taken off my scarf and flung it across the clearing. I struggled and tried to call out. Though Jasper was knocking someone—Ben or Maria—off me constantly, there was always the other to take his place. Pain seared into my throat, and I screamed. I realized my mittens were gone as the same pain erupted in my wrists, blooming through my body. I fell to the ground.

Pain. The worst pain imaginable. Beyond all imagination. I couldn't tell if I burned or froze, only that I shook, twisted, convulsed. Dimly I saw a flash of orange light; a fire had been lit. I imagined that this meant that Ben and Maria had ripped Jasper apart and were going to burn the pieces.

The pain roared in my veins, setting them on fire. I hurt too much to move, to cry out, or to do anything at all. I rolled my head to face the sky. The entire universe, all the cosmos and the galaxies had converged upon this one spot in the sky. The light burned brighter, swirling in its beauty. Bella had told me once, admittedly under duress, what it was like to be transformed. Emmett had been able to fill in the difference between whether or not you were being transformed or whether you'd been sucked dry. As the light crashed and streaked with all the vibrant colors of a supernova, I knew. The light swallowed me whole.


	18. Awake

Awake

Death was the easiest and most blissful thing I'd ever done. My world was silent and liquid. No light or sound punctuated the void as I floated. I knew I could join bigger and better things when I was ready. But for the first time ever, I had no choices to make, no emotion, and no heartache. Time stopped completely. I would have chosen to float indefinitely if not for the fact that suddenly my eyes snapped open like a retracting shade.

I felt hyper-aware of my body and everything around me, though I wasn't sure why. It seemed like sounds were louder, vision was sharper, life was more vivid, although…I didn't know why. The sound of my own breathing and heart beat was distracting. The room was pale yellow. Dust shimmered in the light streaming through the tiny window. I was in a hospital.

A nurse who'd been walking by glanced into my room, did a double-take, and backtracked into my room. "You're awake?" she said with confusion. I blinked at her. "You were in a coma."

I frowned. "I was?"

Her nametag read Brenda. "Do you remember anything at all, honey?"

I racked my brain. "Nope."

Brenda frowned. "Can you tell me your name?" She grabbed the chart off the end of my bed, flipping through it.

I paused. Hesitated. Searched. Felt a cold sense of dread down the back of my neck. "I don't…I don't know. I don't remember anything…"

Brenda bit her lip with concern. She looked young, fresh out of nursing school, even. She had pretty chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. We've been referring to you as Emily…does this ring any sort of a bell?"

I looked down. "No."

She smiled at me very sadly. "It was better than 'Jane Doe.'"

I languished in my hospital bed and learned the specs of my visit by the doctor who'd been taking care of me, Dr. Yates. I was in Kansas City, Missouri. A dark-haired, tall, strong man had dropped me off in the ER; he'd found me while hiking in the woods, comatose. There were traces of a strong narcotic in my veins and evidence that I'd been abused. There appeared to be nothing wrong with me, except for an unreasonably high fever of 104 degrees, of which I could feel no effects of sickness and which refused to come down. I'd been here two weeks. All in all, it seemed to be a routine visit with no problems, except that I had no idea how I had gotten there, no idea who I was, and no idea of where I was supposed to be.

The doctor deduced that I had total amnesia, but no damage to short-term memory. I had deep bruises over most of my body as well as a healed fracture to my left leg. The poor man was at his wit's end as to why I had no memory whatsoever, because despite my injuries, my head was markedly undamaged, almost like whoever had hurt me had gone to great lengths to preserve my head. The doctor, after trying every trick he knew to bring back my memory, even brought me the clothes I had on my body to see if they aroused any memories, but they didn't.

I learned in the next few days that I could speak French and play the piano, and that I remembered current events, history, and culture, just not my own life. I was walking around the patient lounge, pleased to have been gifted both civilian clothes as well relieved of my IV drip. I'd now been here eighteen days. Someone had flipped on CNN, where a crying woman was beseeching the masses to help find her missing daughter, who'd been gone for a little more than three months. Next the girl's sister and father appeared, along with scenes of dogs searching a wooded area that clearly wasn't Missouri. "Please," the father implored, so emotional he couldn't even cry, "I just want my baby girl home. If you have her, give her back. We'll do anything." The newscaster tutted and remarked on what a misfortune it was for a young lady with so much promise—evidently she was an Ivy League student on scholarship—to go missing, and for no apparent reason. All they'd found of her was a red crocheted scarf and a pair of yellow mittens that the sister vouched had been handmade by the missing girl. _It's difficult to find someone if you don't know what she looks like_, I thought. But then I stopped cold, putting down the crochet hook and bundle of yarn I'd been turning into a scarf. "Nurse," I yelled out, panicked. "Nurse!"

A woman—Charlene—appeared in the doorway. "Emily, honey, what is it?" she asked, seeing no obvious signs of why I should be worked up into a state.

"Look!" I shrieked, gesturing wildly to the television with my crochet hook.

"Oh my God," she said quietly. The news broadcast had shown a shot of the missing girl. I could be mistaken, but she looked one hell of a lot like me. I looked down at my hands and let out a startled cry. The scarf I'd been making looked like the one on the television. "Come with me," Charlene said, taking me by the hand and practically running down the hallway. "_Dr. Yates! DR. YATES!"_ she hollered at the top of her lungs. People were staring at us.

Dr. Yates appeared out of his office at the end of the hallway down which we were sprinting. "Mrs. Clayton, could you _please_ tell me what you mean by all this shouting? This is a hospital, not a circus."

"Understood, sir, but you see"—

"And furthermore, you've woken up several patients."

"I'll take care of them in a minute, sir, but you see"—

"I was also in the middle of a conference call."

"_Will you just listen a minute?_" Charlene said poisonously. "Emily is Alice Brandon, that missing girl from Washington!" she said with triumph, ushering me forth.

Dr. Yates was taken aback by surprise. "Are you sure?" he asked, though I wasn't sure whom he was addressing.

"I don't know," I said slowly, "I don't remember anything, but I do look a lot like her, and I was even crocheting a scarf that was just the same as they said was the one they found."

The doctor frowned, unprepared to make any assumptions. "I'll need to get on the phone with some people," he said slowly. "I'll need to call the police in Washington to send to them a sample of your blood, your charts, as well as a photograph. Is this okay with you?" Despite the fact that nobody knew how old I was, everyone was running on the assumption that I was of legal age, which I appreciated. It had something to do with an x-ray of the growth plate in my collarbone.

It took two weeks, all told, for the medical things to be sent to Washington and analyzed. Meanwhile, the news stories altered a bit; now news anchors reported that there was a possibility that the missing girl may have been found. I found myself wanting this to be true. She seemed like she had a nice life, this girl.

On the twenty-seventh of March, I was wearing a blue and yellow dress, a pair of black tights, and a gray cardigan graciously given to me by Charlene's teenaged daughter. I was sitting in the sun-streaked patient lounge playing the piano. I didn't know the name of the song I was playing, but it had been in my head ever since I woke up. I faltered a bit suddenly; my eyes clouded over and I could see in my mind a man with messy hair entering the hospital. I could tell he was both nervous and hopeful about something. Just as soon as this mental image appeared, it vanished, and I found myself still sitting on the piano bench, staring at my hands. I started to play again. Brenda appeared in the doorway like an apparition. "Emily? There's someone here to see you," she said.

I nodded and continued to play. A stocky man with messy dark hair came into the room, careful not to come too close, and watched me play. I tried not to appear startled; he was the same man I'd just seen in my head. Great. Now in addition to having no memory, apparently I was crazy. The song came to an end and I looked up at him expectantly. His hazel eyes were teary. He swallowed hard. "You're my Alice," he said gruffly.

My heart burst. I knew I was. I so wanted to remember him. I nodded shyly.

"You love this song. You made me a CD for Father's Day. A…friend…wrote it for you." He'd come closer to me. Up close, he looked much younger than he probably was. "I know you don't remember me, or what happened to you, and I don't want to make you feel awkward…" I realized how very awkward this was for him; I merely felt sadness. "But…could I…give you a hug?" he asked with tremendous difficulty, wondering at the fact that he'd just asked his own daughter for a hug.

I couldn't say no. I was just happy to have a name and put an end to people's worrying. I let him wrap me into a bear hug and hugged him back tightly. I sensed he was crying a little. It was just the beginning of the onslaught. Dad was the only one who came to Missouri, but waiting for me in Washington were my mom and sister and a host of friends. Dad had to remind me that my parents had been divorced since I was a baby and that my sister wasn't his kid, so I tried not to think about how awkward it must be for everyone that they were staying at our house, being that the tiny town of Forks lacked a hotel.

It was the definition of strange to have my life relayed to me. I was a scholarship student at Brown. I was nineteen and a half. I was studying history and political science with a concentration in international policy. I had a cat. I liked to cook. Under duress, Dad told me that I'd had a boyfriend, but we'd apparently not been together for the year prior to me going to college. Nothing rang a single bell.

A woman with long blonde hair was sitting on the porch when I got home. "That's your mother," Dad said quietly. I guessed that there were a lot of things about my life that I wasn't being told, but maybe it was easier that way. I walked toward her, and she rose from the Adirondack chair. We were the same height; we had the same eyes and curls in our hair. She stared at me wordlessly and reached out to touch my face. She smoothed her thumb over my cheekbone—something about this gesture was familiar. After a fragile moment of eternity, she, too, wrapped me in her arms. Something about her told me that she didn't do this often.

The screen door opened, and a girl younger than I drifted onto the porch. My sister. She came to me from the side and squeezed me tight. I wished I didn't feel so awkward. These people obviously loved me very much. Problem was, I had no idea who the hell they were. For half a second, I hoped that everyone had been mistaken and I wasn't Alice Brandon. That way, they could find who they were really looking for, a girl with all her memories and her life ahead of her. Then I felt burning shame. They weren't expecting this any more than I was.

My parents and sister worked over the next couple days to reacquaint me with my life. This was your favorite dress as a kid, they'd say, pointing to a picture. You took dance lessons; you competed in pageants, but didn't like them. This was your grandpa, remember him? He was really special to you. He taught you how to take pictures. This is your tante. She taught you how to cook. You're sure you don't remember what happened to you? No? But you remember what you learned in college? How strange. Well, we'll leave you alone, then.

I spent my time poring over a huge scrapbook I'd put together with the selfsame grandfather that detailed almost my entire life as well as my entire family lineage. I looked at my two Forks High yearbooks, read a journal I'd kept, looked at a scrapbook I'd made of me and my friends, but mostly my boyfriend, and still couldn't remember a thing. I couldn't go back to college until the following fall; I'd missed too much school. I decided this was for the best because surely by then I'd remember _something._ It was so damn frustrating having everyone treat me like I was completely crazy, and I was in no state to contradict them.

I noticed in the photos, however, that I did look very slightly different now. I questioned if maybe I wasn't someone else after all. My face was hollower, my cheekbones sharper, and somehow I looked like a superhero version of Alice. She—I—was pretty, but next to her—me—I was striking, but I couldn't tell why. I also found by the bed a pair of glasses, as well as a supply of contacts in the bathroom. I tried to put them in and my eyes immediately crossed. I took them out right away and tried to put on the glasses. My eyes crossed again. My vision was perfect. There was an inhaler by the bed as well, but I seemed not to need it.

I had to go to a specialist a week after coming home, a surgeon in Port Angeles who specialized in blood problems and epidemiology, because I still had a technically dangerously high fever, though I wasn't really sick. My heart showed no signs of strain, my body wasn't fatigued, and I felt fine. I dressed comfortably in a black t-shirt, green cardigan, jeans, and brown riding boots that my sister had given me—"You always really liked them, and my feet grew," she said when she'd handed them to me, though I knew her feet hadn't really grown.

I had to prove to my dad that I remembered how to drive about ten different times, and even then, I was still well-equipped with a knife and pepper spray and instructed under penalty of death not to stop _at all_ on the highway. I quickly discovered that there was nowhere to stop, anyway, but maybe that's why he said it; I'd been taken in the woods. I could remember how to cook specific meals I'd apparently liked, how to drive, books I'd read, music I'd listened to, bands I'd seen, movies I'd watched, places I'd visited…but not my own life. I drove to Port Angeles in my cute little car listening to NPR. On the one hand, amnesia gave me a newfound appreciation for my belongings and loved ones. On the other hand, three months of my life that I didn't remember meant that I was still reeling from everything that was going on in the world.

I walked into the hospital and sensed where I was supposed to go. I didn't know if this was a good sign or not. Despite the surgeon theoretically being a blood specialist, I hoped he knew enough about heads to tell me what was wrong with mine. I wasn't going to tell him about the random "flashes of insight" that I'd started getting throughout the day, though. I didn't want to be institutionalized.

The doctor was standing by the window when I knocked on his open door. He was pretty average in terms of height, and I could tell from the back that he had hair so blonde it looked white. He turned around and smiled at me. "Alice, welcome," he said warmly, and I had to remind myself that he'd actually seen me before, and I him, and that I just didn't remember it, like everything else in my life.

"Er…hi, Dr. Cullen," I said, feeling lamer by the second.

He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry that this is awkward for you. Why don't you tell me what you know about your condition?"

I blinked. "I really don't know anything," I said unhelpfully. "I know I have a fever that technically should make me very sick. But I feel fine. I don't ache, my body doesn't hurt, I don't feel hot or cold…I feel just fine."

"Have you noticed anything different about yourself at all?" Something in the way he was looking at me told me that he already knew the answer.

"I found glasses and contacts in my house, but I don't need them. From what I gather, my vision used to be quite bad, and my parents were telling me that I was—am—was very nearsighted, but…it's like my vision is suddenly perfect. And I had an inhaler, too, and my dad was telling me that I only needed it when I was going to run or do heavy exercise, but I went for a run yesterday and was just fine. And, you know, it's the weirdest thing…I was looking at pictures of myself, and I look…_different,_ somehow…" I trailed off, feeling really, really stupid. "Sir, is there a chance that maybe I'm _not_ Alice?"

His face had very carefully betrayed no emotion, and I had a feeling that it should have. "No, you're definitely Alice. Your blood type, dental record, teeth impressions, and DNA are identical. You are, without a doubt, Alice."

"Okay…" I said slowly, "so, what's wrong with me?"

He frowned. "That's what I hope to figure out…I know you don't like needles, but I'm going to need a blood sample," he said apologetically. "Two vials."

I winced. He led me down the hall to an examination room, where I shed my cardigan, rolled up the sleeves of my long shirt, and subjected myself to target practice. I now had an indeterminate amount of time to wait while I put my faith in the hands of a man who I strongly suspected already knew what was wrong with me, but didn't want to tell me. Sometimes, I thought my life was better when I was in a coma. And this was just the beginning of what was going to be an indefinitely long road.


	19. Discovery

Discovery

I didn't mean to, but I think I genuinely disappointed or even hurt people in the weeks after coming home. The girls who were my best friends in high school, Liz and Kate, came to visit me on their Easter vacation and were completely bewildered by me, this girl who looked like their friend but wasn't. They were nice enough about it, but were so obviously sad. I tried not to feel sad, too. There was obviously nothing that I could do. Maybe the tension in our friendship would have been there anyway—they went to the same school and I went across the country. We did communicate, but not very often, and maybe it would have been too hard to keep a high school friendship together when you've spent so much time immersed in college.

My mom and sister left a few days after I got back, which I shamefully found relieving. From them, my mom especially, I felt tremendous pressure to magically wake up one morning and have all my memories, although my mom did broadly hint that there was something that had happened between us that she'd just as soon me not remember—I could tell she'd forget about it, too, if she could. My sister, however, was pleasant enough. A little ditzy, but she was barely seventeen; she could grow out of it. Apparently she had made a lot of headway into being an individualist, which she said was thanks to me.

Going through my own life as a spectator was the single most frustrating thing I could imagine—but it beat being in a coma. Probably.

My body had healed rapidly since I woke up. In barely more than a week, the bone-deep bruises over my body had faded to practically nothing. X-rays showed almost no trace of what had apparently been quite a bad fracture. The only thing that seemed to remain from whatever had happened to me was a long, somewhat jagged, thin scar stretching nearly the entire length of my left shin. I thought Dr. Cullen would marvel over my body and its rapidfire healing, but he seemed almost like he expected it. I had a distinct feeling that the scar had been around before my disappearance, and in fact a few diary entries of mine referenced it, but nobody would tell me what it was from.

I thought a lot about how I supposedly disappeared. It was the night I'd come home for Christmas break. My dad saw me go to bed, and I wasn't there the next morning. My footprints in the snow led away from the house into a clearing in the woods. All he found were a scarf and a pair of mittens. There were no footprints leading away from the site, no marks of a body being dragged. It was as if the ground had swallowed me whole. I could tell that what bothered my dad almost as much as my disappearance was what had compelled me to run into the woods in the middle of the night in the first place. I wanted to know that myself. I didn't leave a note or the slightest hint as to why I'd left. I was in the grocery store when I heard two women discussing me in hushed tones an aisle over; I heard them say it was fortunate that not only were my mittens and scarf left in the woods, but they were also violently torn, discrediting the polices' initial theory that I was a runaway.

Some people met me with some hostility, and I could tell that's exactly what they thought—that I'd run away, come home, and my memory (or lack thereof) was an elaborate act. I wished it was. I wasn't too bothered by their ignorance. While I wasn't too sure what happened to me or why, I was pretty confident I hadn't run away or brought it on myself.

I didn't exactly feel like people were avoiding me, but I knew they just didn't know what to do with me. That's why I was so surprised to be reading in my room when my vision clouded over and I saw someone approaching the front door. I had gotten somewhat more used to these random flashes lately, and I'd figured out that they preceded an actual event. I still hadn't told anyone, and I was going to keep it that way. Sure enough, a minute later, there was a knock at the door. I came downstairs and saw a boy through the glass; he was incredibly tall and sturdy with thick black hair and incredibly flawless reddish-brown skin. He was probably eighteen or so. And I was pretty sure his name was Jacob, not because I remembered him specifically, but because I'd seen pictures. I opened the door. "Hello," I said in a manner I hoped was kind.

He smiled slightly, revealing white, even teeth. "Hi, Alice, I'm Jacob Black." He held out a hand to me. His hands were blisteringly hot. "I know you don't remember me, but…" He looked down suddenly, feeling awkward.

"It's okay," I said quickly. "Please come in." I stepped aside to let him in; despite the sunshine, the air was still damp and a little cold. "Maybe I could fix you something to eat?" I asked.

His face lit up. "That would be pretty nice; I drove up here straight from school…can you fry fish?"

I groaned internally at the thought of how badly the house would stink for days, but I was happy enough that someone actually came to see me, empty head and all, that I knew I'd do it anyway. I got the necessary things together and thanked my lucky stars for the seemingly bottomless supply of fish in the freezer. "What sorts of things have you been doing to keep yourself busy?" he asked.

I thought about it. "I've been reading the stack of books I was supposed to have gotten for Christmas and I try not to be stressed out about the fact that I don't remember my own life," I said wryly.

"Read anything good?" he smirked.

"Uh…Walt Whitman?" I said, only to be met with him wrinkling his nose. "How about Stephen King?" I amended.

"I can dig it," he said, reaching into the snack cabinet above my head for a bag of chips. "That's actually the best taste I've ever known you to have; everything you usually read is written in old English," he teased.

I stuck my tongue out at him, supremely grateful for this strange boy who'd made me the most comfortable I'd been since I woke from the coma. "Believe it or not, I actually remember _some _things."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Nobody said that. Like what?"

I pursed my lips. "Things I've read, music I like, things I learned in class, and major world events."

His jaw dropped. "You're not shitting me?"

I laughed. "I am not."

His brow creased. "But if you remember that, what don't you remember?"

I flipped the fish in the pan. "It's sort of weird. I remember the plots of books, but not reading them. I remember what I learned in class, but not going to class. Does that make sense?"

"No," he said honestly, "but that's okay, I guess. I mean, I know it's not your fault, and you're probably trying really hard to remember."

I slid the fish onto a plate and slid it in front of him, sitting across from him with my own plate. "More than you know. So, are you going to college in the fall?" I asked, eager to move the conversation away from myself.

He shrugged. "I've applied to a few places and been accepted, but I don't know if I see the point. I have absolutely no idea what I want to do, and I don't have the money to stay in college six years figuring it out. So I think I might do community college for a year while I figure it out. I've heard that you can go back in the fall."

I chewed my fish thoughtfully. "Yes, provided that I can manage to prove to everyone that I'm mentally stable and can handle the coursework. It might be a little bit weird, though, since I'd basically be a new student all over again, but it's pretty nice that Brown is willing to keep my scholarship."

"It would probably be better anyways, since you wouldn't be hung up over Jas—" his jaw snapped shut, biting off the rest of his words. He looked mildly embarrassed and angry with himself.

I leaned forward a little bit and peered at him closely. "Hung up over _whom?"_ I asked. I knew I'd had a boyfriend, and I surmised that he'd screwed me over pretty badly and that I hadn't handled it in the best way, but people forcefully changed the subject to absolutely anything else every time I mentioned anything about him. I didn't even know his name, or if he still lived here, or what he looked like.

Jacob flushed a bit. "I'm not allowed to tell you," he mumbled.

I scooted towards him in my chair. "I promise I won't tell anyone that you told me," I said in a voice I hoped was gentle and pleading. "Besides, what's the harm in telling me if I don't even remember?" I gave him my best face.

Jacob twisted his mouth and looked away. "Nope, you're not going to beg this out of me."

I leaned very close and looked at the table for a few seconds to compose my face as tearfully and begging as possible. "Please, Jake?" I said very quietly. I did feel a little dirty begging like this—but not dirty enough to stop what I was doing. I wanted to know. I needed a puzzle to solve, and I wondered a bit if maybe this mystery man would be the key to unlocking the flood of memories in my head.

Jacob glared at me for a long second. He sighed and twisted a piece of my hair around his finger. "You dated this guy. I never had anything against him, or I tried not to, because I didn't know him, but he did you wrong. Your dad worried about you because he was a little bit older, only by a year, but he seemed and acted a lot older than he was. He left you one day, but he didn't just leave _you. _It's like he vanished. His family claimed they knew where he was and that he was safe, but he never came back or contacted you. By the time you went to college, you hadn't heard from him for over a year. And you were the best friend I've ever had."

I was taken aback. I certainly hadn't expected the events between me and the mystery man to be so dramatic-sounding, nor did I realize that Jacob was so attached to me. I felt a shiver of panic at the thought that he might be in love me, that maybe I was hurting him by asking about my mystery man, that maybe I was hurting him because I didn't remember a damn thing about him. I opened my mouth and tried to form a question, but the words didn't come out.

He seemed to know what I was trying to say, and he smiled with no trace of sadness or regret. "No," he replied, tapping the end of my nose, "we weren't anything more than friends. We hit on each other outrageously, but we never had anything between us. We weren't each other's types."

Ah. I felt a little better. He _was _very handsome, but I was glad to know he wasn't wasting his heart. I sat back in my chair and looked out the back door, watching the muted light catch the mist in the trees. I could see him watching me out of the corner of my eye. "Did he ever come back?" I asked finally.

For the first time, Jacob looked angry. "Oh, sure, he came back. In fact, he turned up not long after you went missing. Your dad—and mine—were furious. They thought he maybe had something to do with it."

"And you do, too."

He shrugged, but I could see redness in his face. "He has a solid alibi, and he treated you well, so I don't know what he could have had to do with it, but I guess it's a little too coincidental for my comfort."

I guessed it was time to bite the bullet. I was incredibly intrigued by this story, but a bit horrified at how much it sounded like a poorly written soap opera. I was sure that Jacob wasn't exaggerating it, but I found I wanted nothing better than to find this boy. It wasn't that I wanted to get to know him and get back together with him. But I wondered if there was something to my dad's theory that he had something to do with my disappearance, and I wanted to know where he'd been. "Does he still live here?" I asked.

"Yep," he replied, popping the 'p.'

"Does he have a name?" I felt uneasy, but I wasn't sure why.

He smiled with a hint of irony. "He's your doctor's son, baby girl. Jasper Hale."

My chair came back to the ground on all four legs with a clatter. Was he kidding me? I'd seen Dr. Cullen several times now, and he hadn't breathed a word that I knew him outside a medical setting, nor did he mention that I knew any of his family. In fact, he didn't say anything about them at all; he just alluded to having quite a few children, all adopted. I dated his son. By all accounts, it was really serious. And to find out that he might have had something to do with whatever happened to me was almost too much. I opened my mouth to speak, and for the second time this afternoon, nothing came out. I had too many thoughts to narrow down. Jacob was watching me closely. I let my eyes flutter shut as I took a deep breath. "Why didn't anyone say anything?" I asked.

"Probably because they were afraid of you freaking the hell out, to be honest," he said. "You didn't necessarily handle it very well when he left. You didn't go crazy or anything. You were just really angry all the time. You refused to talk about him or anything that had to do with him. I bought you tickets to see one of your favorite bands for your eighteenth birthday, and I thought you were going to have a stroke. I didn't know that they were one of _his _favorite bands, too, which meant that you would have none of that."

I smiled sardonically. "That wasn't really what I meant. The better question is why didn't anyone tell me that my doctor is his father? That seems like a glaring mistake to leave out."

"That I don't know," he shrugged. "Dr. Cullen insists that Jasper had nothing to do with what happened. And I've heard that he's the best doctor in the area, although my family doesn't go to him."

A plot formed in my head as I saw in my mind's eye a stately Victorian home in the woods with myself knocking on the door, answered by a tall man with curly blonde hair. "Well, Jake, I have to thank you, because thanks to you, I think I'm going to find out exactly where this Mr. Hale was and exactly what he may have had to do with my disappearance."

Jacob looked horrified. "You can't do that!"

"And why not?" I said, standing up and picking the dishes off the table.

"Because I wasn't supposed to tell you any of that, and if you go over there and talk to any of them, everyone will know I told you!"

I rolled my eyes at him. "You're a senior in high school; you can't seriously tell me that you're afraid of being grounded or something."

"Definitely not grounded, but excommunicated from my tribe, maybe…"

"Relax, I won't do anything right away," I said. Lies. "I'll think of what to do first, and I promise I won't tell anyone who told. I'll say I found his name in a diary or something." More lies. I was pretty sure I knew exactly what I would do, and if not, I could probably count on one of my 'visions' to tell me.

He still looked edgy. "I don't know… I'm definitely not telling you to let it go, but I don't want you to get hurt."

I appreciated that. I could tell he was a very good friend. I promised him I'd be careful, although I wasn't too sure what I needed to be careful about. He left soon after that, and my dad came home to me sitting in the same place at the kitchen table. He unhooked his gun belt. "Hey, Al, what were you up to today?"

"Jacob Black came to visit," I replied, hoping nothing about my face or voice betrayed anything I'd learned this afternoon.

Dad looked delighted. "Really? That's wonderful! You and Jake were pretty close. I'd hoped you would still be able to be friends, considering…" he cleared his throat awkwardly, and I was reminded once again of how annoying it was to not remember my own life.

I rolled my eyes with a heavy sigh. "It's okay, Dad. You can talk about it. It's probably more annoying for you than it is for me."

He came over to my chair and tentatively laid a hand on my shoulder, looking down at me. "All I really care about is that you're home. I can accept everything else," he said simply. I felt a swell of gratitude to this amazing man who accepted me and my huge flaw without question, who didn't betray feelings of bitterness or anger over my memory lapse or why I walked away from the house in the first place.

He took me out to eat that night, at a diner straight out of the 50s. He'd joked that he was slowly reintroducing me to society, but I knew he wasn't really joking, that he wanted to wait until people treated me like a little less of a freakshow. He seemed to intuitively know that it bothered me a bit when people came up to me in public and wanted to talk about what happened, getting personally offended when I couldn't talk about it or remember them. We received some glances, but people seemed to be trying to be discreet. I also knew that Dad maintained a steady glare and a hand near his gun for anyone who stared a second too long.

After he went to bed, I laid on my own bed and tried to think of places I would have possibly stashed Jasper-related memorabilia. So far, I hadn't turned up more than the odd misplaced photo of him, and while I'd claimed to Jake that I'd pretend I'd read Jasper's name in a diary, there didn't seem to be any diaries. I'd checked my closet, under my bed, in my bookcase, and every other place that made sense to look. I closed my eyes. I'd almost reached the point of deciding to abandon the search when my mind suddenly grew crystal clear. I saw myself pulling down the hatch in my closet that led to the attic, going straight to a cardboard box that I knew contained what I was looking for. I swung myself off the bed, cleared some floor space in my closet, and gave the cord on the hatch a strong pull.

Stairs descended from the hatch with surprising silence. I stared up into the dark attic with some nervousness. I hoped that box was really close to the entrance, because I didn't have a flashlight. I took a deep breath and walked up the stairs as quietly as I could. I didn't want to admit it, but I was a little afraid of the dark. I kept my eyes on the ground and tried not to look around in the dark. As luck would have it, I'd put the box as close to the entrance as possible without it falling down the stairs. I picked it up; it was remarkably heavy.

I set it on my bed, pushed the stairs back up, and sat down to open the box, trying not to shake dust all over my quilt. I pulled out a photo album first; it cracked from disuse when opened. The very first picture was one of him looking over his shoulder with a laugh. Despite myself, I had to catch my breath. He was incredibly handsome and seemed to be full of light. The pictures were sometimes of both of us, sometimes just one of us, and showed us at the Butchart Gardens, some sort of a concert, getting ready to leave for some formal event, even attending a Vancouver Canucks game. I could tell from the way we looked at each other in the pictures that at least at one point, we loved each other deeply.

Three slim diaries were underneath the photo album. Now I wouldn't be quite as much of a liar if anyone asked where I'd heard Jasper's name and our story. I spent half the night poring over the entries.

_-He makes me unspeakably angry. He won't be my friend, will hardly even look at me in class, and I don't know why. He went from being perfectly friendly to ignoring me completely, although he does seem to be incredibly sad about it._

_-I know things will look up. The dreams are getting stronger. He's going to meet me at the coffee shop on my birthday._

_-I never dreamed he would have led such an interesting life or that his family would be so welcoming. I never dreamed that I would feel this way about another human being._

_-He is everything I've ever dreamed of._

_-Something is going on, and I mean to find out what it is. He's gone for several days at a time, and he's increasingly protective and paranoid. I know Edward knows what's wrong, and I assume the rest of the family does, too, but they won't say a word. My dreams aren't saying a thing._

_-It's been two months. Two months since the accident and two months since I've seen him. Two months of waiting and I feel like this is only the beginning. The Cullens won't tell me anything, even though I know he's called them. They want to keep me safe, they say. I'd rather stop being hurt than be safe. I'd rather stop feeling like I'm personally responsible in some way._

_-Six months and he didn't come back for his own graduation._

_-I can't deal with this anymore. He isn't coming back and I'm never going to know what happened. I'm so angry about it that I don't dream anymore. It's as if I've willed myself to stop, lest I see him._

In the box I also found a scrapbook of ticket stubs, little notes, and mementoes of things we'd done together. There was an ornate and delicate necklace of a silk ribbon adorned with a crest of lions and fleur-de-lis. There was a beautifully wrapped but unopened present, a CD composed and recorded by Edward, and a well-loved copy of _The Shadow of the Wind._ This box was all I had of our relationship. And I knew with absolute certainty that I had to speak to him. I would go right now if I could. I was sure that he had something to do with my disappearance, but that he wasn't responsible. I even felt the slightest bit sure that perhaps his abandonment hadn't been malicious or due to me. I knew I had to see him. I just had to wait a few more hours for daylight.

* * *

**10/30/12: I apologize for leaving this story for such an embarrassingly long time. I lost all my steam on it and wasn't sure where I wanted to go with it anymore, but I didn't have the heart to declare it finished or abandoned. I've probably lost all my original readers at this point, but I want to finish the story for myself. I know what I want to do with it now. Hope you enjoy!**


	20. Shock

Shock

I laid awake for the rest of the night, tossing and turning and disrupting my cat and trying desperately to think of a plan, then to not think of one at all. The more I tried to think, the more frustrated I became. Around daylight I gave up and settled for ten minutes of calming music while I remained perfectly still with my eyes closed. Apparently this was the key I needed, because a vision bloomed in my mind. I knew at least how to get out of the house for the day without my dad worrying about me. I showered and dressed quickly in a soft blue sweater dress, knowing I'd need it despite the fact that it was nearly the end of April. I was eating scrambled eggs with toast when my dad came downstairs, visibly surprised that I was dressed to go somewhere, and at such an hour. "Hey, Al," he said cautiously.

I smiled slightly. "Hey, Dad. Bella Cullen asked if I wanted to hang out today," I explained.

His brow creased as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, honey…"

"Don't worry, it's just the two of us," I said, hoping he'd notice the emphasis and understand what I was saying. "Besides," I carried on, "it's really nice that someone actually still wants to hang out with me."

He took a long sip and looked at me thoughtfully over the rim of his mug, the steam curling around his wise eyes. "Well, I guess that would be okay," he conceded. "It's not good for you to be cooped up in the house all the time, anyway, and it would be nice for you to make some friends. Just be home for dinner, okay?" He placed his mug in the sink and brushed his lips against my hair on his way out the door. I rinsed off my plate and waited a few minutes to make sure our paths wouldn't cross—I'd looked up the Cullens' address and noticed I'd have to drive on the same road Dad used to get to the station for at least part of the way. When I was sure it was safe, I slid into my icy-cold car and switched off the radio, needing the silence.

The drive leading to the Cullens' house was marked with an old gas streetlight. The drive twisted through a dense grove of trees before coming to a clearing on a slight hill, crowned by their sprawling, beautiful Victorian house. The drive curved around to the back, where I could see a garage that looked like a refurbished horse barn. I sat in my car in the bend of the drive. My hands started to shake; my head spun. I swallowed hard and wondered for the first time if maybe this was a horrible idea. But I had to move forward. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, letting my mind go blank. I saw myself knocking on the door, Jasper answering, Edward and the rest of the family close behind. Edward looked bewildered, Belle and Esme faintly happy, Rosalie and Emmett intrigued, Jasper…devastated. After that, my mind grew muddled and hazy.

I wasn't completely sure of the nature of my visions yet, but it appeared that my visions were reliant on the decisions of others. If someone hadn't made a decision or changed his or her mind, my visions would change or disappear. Sometimes they came to me unbidden, and on occasion, like now, I could focus quite hard on a certain event and see the outcome. For sure it seemed that I had to have a desire or a personal investment in the situation to be able to see anything. And for sure I could tell that I wasn't going to learn anything else until I went to the door.

I walked up the drive, feeling strangely calm. I stood in front of the door and was about to knock when it swung open. Jasper stared down at me. He was much taller than I realized. His face was stricken with pain and shock. "Alice," he said so softly I almost didn't hear him. I caught my breath. His voice was lovely. It sounded like cellos. I felt like I should feel something—love, attraction, even lust, perhaps. Strangely I felt nothing. The evidence of my past life did not instill a sense of obligation. I could not be in love with pieces of memories. I felt merely curious.

"Hello, Jasper," I said serenely, stepping inside and shutting the door behind me.

True to my vision, Edward seemed to materialize out of thin air behind Jasper. His boyish face crowned with copper hair looked intrigued and bewildered. He was just this side of approaching too thin, and I noticed that while handsome, he had a schoolboy-ish look about him—the posh, boarding school kind, accentuated by the tweed blazer he wore with leather elbow patches. "Incredible," murmured Edward, staring at me intently. "She truly remembers nothing."

I turned to him. "No," I conceded, "I do not. But how did you know that?"

He looked at his feet. "I can just tell," he lied. I don't know how, but I knew he was lying.

The rest of the family slowly came to join Edward. Bella had soft mahogany waves that fell almost to her waist; her skin was unusually chalky, but not unhealthy. Her face was carefully free of emotion, but there was a glimmer of something—hope, I think—in her tawny eyes. She shot me a quick smile before looking down at her flowy, long skirt. With the beaded bracelets on her wrists, she looked like a flower child.

Rosalie was devastatingly lovely and had such a sense of self-possession that I was sure she knew her own loveliness. She had a strong jaw with sharp cheekbones that were softened by the golden hair framing her face and tumbling down her back. Her face shouted boredom, but I could tell she was curious. She kept darting me questioning glances in between examining her ruby nails and the fine jewelry on her fingers.

Emmett, who looked like a bear trapped in a human—albeit incredibly youthfully faced—body, draped a casual arm around Rosalie's shoulders and toyed with the bottom of his flannel shirt. He had a peculiar expression, like he wanted to give me a million-watt smile but was restraining himself with great difficulty.

Esme unabashedly radiated joy and love. Her topaz eyes, which very nearly matched her toffee-colored hair, shined with encouragement, and I felt a very strong urge to hug her, despite the fact that I had absolutely no _real _idea who she was. I couldn't help but smile back at her and even gave her a tiny wave before I caught myself.

Finally I turned back to Jasper—or rather, looked up at him. He stood almost a foot taller and had a strong build. He set his sharp jaw in pain and perhaps a little fury. I took in his honey curls and eyes, noticed how he smelled faintly of the sea, admired the way that his gray sweater complemented his build, and fought the urge to chuckle at his cowboy boots, which were decidedly out of place in rainy western Washington. He took a breath and let it out, seemingly at a loss for words. Finally, he spoke.

"Why did you come?" Japer asked quietly.

I found this ironic and felt my lips twist in a smirk. It appeared by all accounts that he'd left me, meaning that I should have been the one reeling from pain. "Why did you leave?" I asked simply. "And what did you have to do with what's happened to me?"

He flinched. "I can explain to you, but it might be difficult to understand."

"I'm sure I'll try to keep up," I said sarcastically.

He closed his eyes as if he were making a decision. Behind him, Edward nodded almost imperceptibly. Jasper's eyes snapped open. "I'll do my best, but I need you to come with me. Bella and Edward, too." He turned on his heel without another word, bounding up the staircase. I was nearly running to keep up with him. He turned into a stark white bedroom. "Please sit," he said, pointing to the bed. I perched on the edge of it, feeling trepidation.

Edward and Bella materialized in front of me. Jasper sat at the desk adjacent to the bed. "I don't know if I will be able to explain to you everything that happened since you don't have any memories," he said regretfully. Since he had spoken more than five words at a time, I heard a trace of a southern twang. He looked hesitant, like he was debating between telling me something. I saw Edward shake his head very slightly at him, as if to say 'not yet.' Not yet _what? _Jasper cleared his throat. "With your permission, Bella and Edward might be able to help you gain some memory, which will help with my part of the story substantially." His hazel-gold eyes were silently pleading me to say yes.

I couldn't help but feel nervous. Help me how? By hitting me over the head? But what choice did I have? Nothing I'd done so far had triggered any flood of memory. I nodded. "All right," I said slowly.

Bella sat cross-legged in front of me on the bed and smiled at me gently, trying to reassure me. "You'll tell me 'when,' right, Edward?" she asked over her shoulder. To me, she said, "May I hold your hands?"

I was too confused to say no. She took my hands in hers; they were cool to the touch. "I promise not to hurt you," she said calmly, "but you need to try to relax and keep your mind as clear as possible." I'd settle for not having a full-stage freakout. I wasn't sure why I felt so nervous or downright panicked. I couldn't possibly leave worse-off than I'd come. I was just starting to consider a wholly unnecessary bathroom break when I gasped.

I saw in my head scenes playing out like a movie in high speed. I saw Jasper ignoring me in class, me shaming him at lunch, him taking me to a coffee shop. I saw him meeting me at that coffee shop for my birthday, taking me to the Butchart Gardens, taking me to the symphony, to a handful of concerts, to a hockey match. I saw blood, a huge gash down my leg, ugly sutures. I physically felt incredible remorse and shame. I imagined he had something to do with what happened. There must have been a great lapse of time because I looked older, then—running through the woods at night. A small, dark-haired woman. Pain shooting through my neck and wrists. I cried out and jerked my hands away, covering my head with my hands. This was too much. A dam broke in my head as my memories unleashed themselves in a torrent. Dimly I heard someone crying out. As my throat twinged, I realized it was me. Fifth birthday party. First pageant. Brad leaving. Meeting Ben. Mom becoming increasingly distant. Grandpa dying. Anorexia. Coming here. Jasper. Cullens. Vampires. Jacob. College. Maria. Dead. I died, but I didn't. I couldn't slow my thoughts down.

I became aware that Edward had his arms around me and was half shaking me, half hugging me. "Alice. Alice! Listen to me, you're going to be fine, I promise, but you have to calm down. Do you hear me? You will be just fine. But you really need to calm down now."

I stopped screaming abruptly, dropped my hands, and stared at all of them, wide-eyed. Bella looked absolutely terrified. Jasper looked only marginally less frightened. Edward looked extraordinarily worried, but relieved that I'd stopped shrieking into his ears.

_Vampires, _my mind blipped. My head suddenly hurt so severely that I wondered if my brain would ooze out of my ears. I had to leave. I felt like I was suffocating. "I'm so sorry," I said awkwardly. "I have to be alone. Now. I'm going now. Goodbye." I practically flew off the bed. The Cullens didn't move or say anything. I turned around and ran out of the room, grabbing my coat off the end of the bannister, throwing it on midstride and practically flying out the front door. I wrenched open my car door and sucked in several deep breaths, resting my head on my steering wheel.

_How could this be possible? _I struggled to make sense of it all. How could they be vampires? Vampires didn't exist. _But they do, _my mind argued, and I knew it had to be true. I was trembling from mental exhaustion and the sheer weight of twenty years of memories engulfing me at once. I knew everything that had happened. My life was back in my head. I knew I'd been bitten. But what the hell had happened to me? Mercifully nobody came after me hiding in my car. I had an easy decision to make, though probably not a very good one. I took a deep breath and put the car in reverse.

A little more than an hour later I sauntered up to the reception desk at the hospital in Port Angeles. "I'm here to see Dr. Cullen, please," I said.

The bored receptionist didn't even look up. "Do you have an appointment?" Her long pink nails flipped a page in her book.

"No, ma'am."

She sighed dramatically. "If you wait down this hallway," she jabbed a nail over her shoulder, revealing a sparkly ring, "he'll get to you eventually. He's in a surgery right now." She turned back to her book, dismissing me.

I wandered down the hallway behind reception and looked over my shoulder to make sure no one could see me. I ducked into the office with his name on the door, quietly shutting the door behind me. I sat myself down in the overstuffed chair at his desk, feeling a pang of guilt for lying in wait to ambush him. In the corner where his desk met the wall was a photo album. I flipped it open.

A genuinely schoolboy-ish Edward was slightly in profile in an official prep-school portrait. The portrait was remarkably clear for its age, which looked to be around the First World War. Juxtaposed sharply next to it was a picture of Esme next to Eleanor Roosevelt at an FDR rally, significantly shorter than the First Lady. In orangey color, Bella sat beneath a tree in a long, flowing skirt with flowers in her hair. Rosalie sat resplendent in a plum-colored two-piece suit with presumably her parents standing behind her—the photo was hand-colored and had that soft look about it. The clothing obviously dated it to the late twenties. Rosalie and Esme, their hair tied up in kerchiefs and their bodies covered in shapeless uniforms, stood outside a World War II factory. Edward stood next to a racy, very early-model Thunderbird from the 50s, his hair in a Frank Sinatra poof. Emmett grinned from behind the carcass of an enormous bear, holding his shotgun high. Interspersed were drawings and pictures of Carlisle throughout antiquity—in some kind of a 1600s drawing room with some extremely somber-looking men, as a physician to the last Grand Duchesses of Russia, as a translator in the French Revolution…and, of course, some snapshots with his family through the semi-present day.

On the last page of the album was a clear-as-day photograph of a Confederate officer in uniform. His hand curled around his rifle protectively. He squared his jaw defiantly, and his presumably blue eyes blazed into mine with pride and fury. He was resplendent in his spotless and decorated uniform, his face cleanshaven, his curly hair clean. I knew it had to be him. But my still-reeling mind slid the picture out of its place and flipped it over. In a faded, loopy script, the back said, "Major Jasper Whitlock, Texas 39th Cavalry, CSA 1862." Of course.

I was almost calm by the time Dr. Cullen—Carlisle, I reminded myself—walked in. His face carefully betrayed no surprise. "Hello, Alice," he said kindly. "What may I do for you?"

I gestured for him to sit at the chair on the other side of his desk, suppressing the urge to laugh wildly at the irony of me inviting the man to sit down in his own office. I looked at him plainly. "I know you know what's wrong with me, Carlisle. I think you know I've gotten my memories back, too. Now I want to know what happened to me."

He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but it seemed sort of forced. "How did you get your memories back?"

I couldn't suppress a sarcastic roll of my eyes and hoped he didn't think I was being rude. "Edward had read my mind before the accident and had some of my memories. He described them to Bella in as much detail as possible, or she was able to get them with her power, I don't know. She projected them onto me, and it broke the floodgates. Now, seriously, will you tell me what happened to my body, _please?_"

He looked at me with his fingers steepled against his lips, which twisted slightly. He was making me nervous. After an eternal minute, he opened his mouth. "I can honestly say I've never seen anything quite like it before. You are not a vampire, of that I am sure."

I felt my eyes narrow in dissatisfaction at this non-answer. "But I'm not a human," I challenged. "I don't need contacts or an inhaler. I feel different, like more aware of my surroundings. I can see things—like little glimpses of the future. I could do it before I disappeared, but only when I was asleep. Now I can do it in the daytime. I am not a human, of that I am sure," I mocked slightly. I wasn't trying to be malicious. I bore him no ill will at all. I was exhausted, frustrated, and still a little incredulous at the course of my entire day.

Carlisle seemed to understand, and he smiled slightly. Good, so he didn't think I was being a bitch. "No," he agreed, "you are not. The best way I can phrase this is—you're exactly half of both."

I blinked in surprise, trying to reason out how that could even be possible. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Nor do I," he admitted freely. "The only time I have ever known this to have occurred is if a vampire male manages to mate with a human female, but that's very rare, as the resulting offspring will be incredibly strong, and the mother often can't survive long enough for the offspring to develop to survival. I don't know if you know this, but after you were bitten by Maria and her mate, Jasper attempted to suck the venom from your body." I tried not to look horrified, since I had newfound memories of my ripped-open leg and Jasper's almost uncontrollable bloodlust.

"It _is _possible to remove the venom, but only if done very quickly, and usually only if there is only one bite," Carlisle continued. "Of course, it's very difficult, since usually the vampire can't keep himself from sucking the human dry," he winced slightly. "But you had too many bites, and I've never heard of a single case of a human only being partially changed. It's possible, though rare, for a human and vampire to produce a half-vampire child, though it almost always kills the human mother." He fell quiet, musing, and turned his gaze to the window. "Tell me, Alice, can you describe your parents for me? Can you tell me what they look like, if they have anything special about them?"

I gave it thought, sifting through what I'd observed since I got home, seen in photographs, and relearned today when my memories came back. "My mother is very beautiful. Her hair is blonde, her eyes are green, and she tans well. I've been told that since my disappearance, she aged a lot, and so she's been trying a lot of home remedies to look younger."

"And your father?"

"Hmm. He looks really young for his age. He's in his early fifties, but doesn't look anywhere close. Hardly any gray hair or wrinkles. Great physical shape, lots of energy. Doesn't tan well, and neither do I." I indicated my own chalky skin like Vanna White showing off a fabulous prize.

Carlisle's keen eyes turned to me. "Do you know anything about your paternal grandparents? Did you know them?"

I shook my head. "My grandmother died before I was born. My dad is an only child, and I know something bad happened when she was pregnant with my dad, and she couldn't have any kids. It didn't matter, because my dad never knew his father—he was never a part of the picture, and he and my grandmother were never married." _Quite the scandal for the sixties, _I thought.

Carlisle looked extremely interested by all of this. "This may sound hard to believe," he began.

I cut him off a bit. "I've just found out that your entire family are vampires, that Jasper was a Civil War officer, and that you were a doctor to the Russian tsar," I said wryly, "I think I can handle 'hard to believe.'"

He chuckled a bit at that. "Fair enough. I think it's possible that your paternal grandfather was at least part vampire, meaning that even before you were bitten, you had vampire venom in your blood already. This would explain your father's youthful appearance, your pale skin, your visions while sleeping… He trailed off.

I stared at him. "But how does that make me half vampire now?"

He sighed. "Because you, in my theory, already had some vampire venom, a full vampire transformation would be impossible. But more venom from an external source would, so to speak, enhance or awaken your vampire tendencies—hence why you don't need corrective lenses or an inhaler, why you can have visions during the day, and so on."

I tried to take all of this in. "But what does this _mean_?" I bleated.

He looked a bit regretful. "I'm really not sure. You still need to eat and sleep; your body can still sustain injury. But If I'm right, despite your body retaining human characteristics, it means you are, for all intents and purposes…immortal."

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**(11/28/12: You're not allowed to show up at my apartment with pitchforks and torches! I hope to have the next chapter up before Christmas, but I'm about to start final exams, so it might be a little while. To whomever nominated my story for the Energize WIP Most Promising Canon Fic-thank you SO MUCH. I am blown away and flattered by all the favorites, follows, and reviews. Each of you is so very lovely, and I never expected such a level of support after leaving this story untouched for so long. Keep on keeping on, y'all!)**


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